The Days That Follow
by Serena Bancroft
Summary: Jessica Angell is on the trail of a dangerous killer, and her desperate chase after the perpetrator could put the life of her unborn child at risk. The second story in the 'Undercoverse' trilogy.
1. Chapter 1

**The much awaited sequel to Undercover by Serena Bancroft. Please read and review and love it. That's an order. -Serena**

**Disclaimer: **

**Jess: What's up?**

**Serena: Just writing this coolio story.**

**Jess: Sounds fabulous.**

**Serena: Too bad I don't own you.**

**Jess: Too bad indeed. CBS kinda sucks. Considering they "killed" me and everything.**

**CBS: Don't criticize us!**

**Serena: Too late. Plus, i'm the one who gets all the badass storylines, so it's your loss. I own the storyline and all the characters you don't recognize!**

**CBS: Well, we get Don Flack, so sucks for you.**

**Serena: I'm starting to really not like you, CBS.**

***WARNING* INCOMING FLUFF! READY YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!**

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_I looked up at him. His eyes were a mix of emotions- nervousness being primary. He ran a hand through his hair- a nervous habit. I'd learned his nervous tendencies and hadn't forgotten them. He blinked more often. He took lots of deep breaths. He ran his hands through his hair. He'd crack his knuckles. Fiddle with anything in reaching distance. All his motions read one thing: He was nervous. There weren't many times that I could recall seeing him nervous. I could probably count them on one hand. It made me slightly on edge that he was so uptight about whatever he was going to tell me. "Just spit it out."_

_He took a deep breath, his arms tightening around me. "Jess, I don't really know how to do this. I've never felt this way about someone. I..." He paused. Took another breath. "I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?" He withdrew a black velvet box from his pocket. Within, a silver band that looked almost woven around a tastefully small princess-cut diamond. It glittered in the soft light, and all of my worries about a baby vanished. The voice of the announcer from the game on TV was the only sound beside our breathing. "AJ Burnett with an IRA of 5.33 takes the mound..."_

_I tore my gaze away from the ring, and looked into his eyes. Gone were his nervous tells. He looked sure of himself as he held the ring in his hand, waiting for me to hopefully say yes. It quelled my butterflies in my stomach somewhat that he was no longer freaked out. He wanted to marry me. That was why he was nervous. It was my turn to tell. I couldn't trap him in an engagement if he didn't want a kid right away. I closed my eyes. Breathed in. I couldn't do that to him. Out. I had to be strong. In. Be sure of myself. Out. Just do it. In. Suck up your feelings and just fucking do it. Out. "I think I might be pregnant."_

My muscles tensed, and I waited for the yelling, the accusations, the hurt. I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut, but somehow, I couldn't command them to close. I watched his expression change. Surprise first, then a look that I rarely saw on him- intense joy. His eyes lit up, and one of his rare, broad grins lit up his face. He set the ring box on the coffee table, and encircled me in a tight hug.

And I sat there like a deer in headlights. _Where's the yelling and arguing? Where's the anger and storming out of my apartment? Where's the crying and self pity? I bought ice cream and Mac and Cheese and all my fatty comfort foods preparing for this._

He buried his face in my hair before his hand found the angle of my jaw. His thumb brushed gently against my cheek, and his fingers below my jaw gently tilted my face to his. That smile was still on his face, and his lips found mine.

I still sat stunned, half-expecting this to be a joke. But when our lips met, I was swept away by emotion. _Holy. Fucking. Shit. _I couldn't believe it. He was happy. I felt tears burn in my eyes. He pulled away, one hand on my hip, and the other on my cheek. "We're going to have a baby," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. The had that rested on my hip migrated to my deceptively flat stomach, not showing any signs of what could be happening within me.

A tear escaped my eyes, and he brushed it away with his thumb. "Why are you crying?" he asked, but he sounded on the verge of doing just that himself.

I gestured to my face uselessly. "They're tears of joy," I answered.

This time, when he hugged me, I hugged back. I rested my chin on his shoulder, leaning against him. "I thought you'd be mad," I whispered, nuzzling my face into his neck.

He chuckled softly as he pulled away. Now I felt like laughing too. All of the worrying about how I'd tell him and how he would react seemed absolutely ridiculous to me now. "Mad? How could I be mad?"

I pulled away. "I don't know. It seems silly, now." I paused, my eye catching the engagement ring still on the coffee table. "Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I'll marry you."

He kissed me again, deeply, his hands pulling me closer, pressing me harder against his warm body. "This isn't just because of the baby, right?" he murmured against my lips.

I pulled back, but only slightly. Our faces were mere centimeters apart, which made it a little hard to focus as his breath washed over my face. "No. I said I _might _be pregnant. I don't actually know for sure. And I would've married you anyway, despite the fact that I'm with someone who's way out of my league." He began to protest, but I silenced him with a kiss. Eventually, the need for oxygen broke us apart.

"You've got it backwards, you know," he said.

"Hm?"

"_You_ are the one who's out of _my _league. You just haven't realized it yet."

"Hardly. There are probably girls all over the city who'd kill for a chance to be with you. Hell, you've probably slept with more girls then I've ever met in my lifetime."

He gave me a look. "Me? What about you?"

"My sexual history is modest," I told him honestly. It was true. I hadn't slept with a boatload of guys before coming to New York. "I mean, come on, I lived in New Jersey. The only men in New Jersey are usually middle-aged, balding guys who have an obsession with Viagra and complain only about sun damage to whicker furniture."

He laughed. "You're amazing."

"Tell me something I don't know, babe," I said jokingly.

He kissed me again, and I poured all of my feeling into that kiss. _Our first kiss while engaged,_ I thought randomly. I never thought I'd be one of the girls who'd be excited for a wedding. When I was younger, I thought weddings were these unnecessary, boring, and overly-expensive shindigs that merely served to trap a woman with a guy forever. But now, the prospect of getting married seemed new and exciting, especially with Don.

When we pulled away, I kept my eyes closed leaning against the backrest of the couch we were sitting on. I heard the announcer saying the Yankees had won. "You know, we still have to finish our Star Wars marathon."

"We do," he agreed.

"Pop it in, and I'll do my best to stay awake for the whole thing. No promises, but I can try."

Don quickly put _A New Hope_ into the DVD player. I tried my best to keep my eyes open, but it was like fighting with a giant gorilla. An angry gorilla at that. I was asleep within the first fifteen minutes.

**So, it was a short chappy, but I wanted to get one up for all of my lovely reviewers. More to come as soon as I can find time to write! By the way, this chapter was like, ALL fluff. There will be a plot. Just give it time to stew around until it becomes a big happy pot of yummy, plot-driven jambalaya! yum! Reviews= extra cilantro to Plot Jambalaya! In Serena-Crazy-Talk-Language, that means reviews are good!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Reviews are much appreciated!**

"Cause of death?"

"So far, I can't really tell," said Sid Hammerback, who was closely examining the corpse of a young woman laid out on a table. Her skin was a sickly shade of white. Her hair, which had been covered in blood at the crime scene, was a pretty shade of ginger blonde hair. She looked oddly at peace, but at the same time, horribly disturbed. Two towels covered her most delicate parts, but all of her other injuries were evident. A long slice along her stomach that could've easily been mistaken for Sid's neat, precise cuts during an autopsy marred the soft, pale skin of her abdomen. A few dark bruises stood out against the white canvas of her flesh under the fluorescent lights. I quivered as I remembered the gruesome specifics of the crime scene...

_A Few Hours Earlier_

_The sound of my phone ringing shattered the peaceful silence of the night, the small screen lighting up a small patch of darkness. Don's arms tightened around me. "Do you really have to get that?" he murmured sleepily._

_"Yeah. I do."_

_He sighed. "It's our first night as soon-to-be Mr. and Mrs. Flack."_

_"Yeah well, we've never been one of those picture perfect couples, babe."_

_"Very true," he relented and released me._

_I reached over Don to grab my phone. The digital clock displayed on the screen read 5:32 AM. "Why do bodies always have to be discovered at the worst times?" I asked rhetorically. "Angell," I answered, voice tired, resting over his torso._

_"Sorry to disturb you, Detective Angell," Dispatchers always said that even though I seriously doubted they were actually sorry, "but we have a dead body, pretty gruesome." The dispatcher gave me an address. "Your presence is requested immediately."_

_I groaned. I squeezed my eyes shut, my fingers at the bridge of my nose. "Damn. Give me twenty minutes."_

_..._

_"So, what've we got?" I asked. The abandoned mail sorting center where the body lay was dark, but several portable light sources made seeing very easy._

_Stella's replacement, Jo Danville, was crouched over the body. And the body... blood was everywhere. It soaked into the tattered shirt and what looked like jeans she wore. It tainted her hair almost black. It spread around her body like macabre rays of sunshine. "Looks to me like a good, old-fashioned bleed out to me, but we'll see what Dr. Hammerback says. It doesn't look like she was moved- there are no smears in the blood so it's pretty likely she was killed here."_

_I wasn't sure about her yet- she seemed pretty nice, really funny, but she wasn't Stella Bonasera. She'd been in New York 2 months now, and I was starting to trust her judgement. "You can call him Sid, you know."_

_Jo looked up. "Hm?"_

_"His name is Sid. You don't have to use the formality all the time. He gets annoyed." I laughed, a brief flashback coming to me. "When I was a rookie, I always called him Dr. Hammerback too. One day, he told me to call him Sid, and the body on the table behind me sat up and started saying, 'Sid! Sid!' I nearly had a heart attack and almost shot the intern on the table." _

_Jo laughed "That's the kind of thing I was expecting on my first day instead of an actual dead body."_

_I smiled. I quickly shifted back into professional mode. "Got any leads on who she is?"_

_Jo carefully reached into the front pocket of the dead woman's jeans, withdrawing a small, blood-soaked leather wallet. After a few photographs were taken and brushing off the majority of the blood clinging to the surface, she opened the wallet. "Drivers license says she's Kristen Madsen, 23 years of age, lives at 2340 Hanover Boulevard."_

_I saved that tidbit of information safely away in my mind. "Any witnesses I can talk to?"_

_"Well, two young lovebirds came in here for a good tumble in the sleeping bag and literally tripped over the body. They're both being treated for shock. And the officer who was first on the scene is throwing up in the bushes. This is his first dead body."_

_I grimaced as I remembered my first encounter with a dead body.I was 20, fresh out of the academy, third day on the job. A young man's throat had been slit in a robbery gone wrong. I threw up for fifteen minutes straight and had nightmares about it for weeks. "Got it. Not much of a selection, but I'll take it."_

_The girl gave me nothing except tears and just kept repeating "She was just THERE." The guy gave me complaints about not getting to fuck his girlfriend. The officer gave me vomit. The day was off to a great start._

"Once I finish the autopsy, I'll be able to give you more detail, but my best guess would be that she bled out. Whatever was used to cut into her, which severed her intestines, stomach, and uterus hit several key pulmonary arteries. Even if this'd happened outside the ER doors, she wouldn't have survived." I immediately thought about how a similar thing had happened to me. If the bullet that hit me had been three millimeters higher, I would've been on one of the tables, not standing next to them. I shivered, my hand subconsciously moving to finger my scar through my blouse. He paused, unclipping his glasses that separated in the front. "On a different note, Congrats."

His comment brought me out of my trance. I knew what he was talking about. I hadn't been shy about wearing the ring to work. "Thank you."

"You and Don seem very happy."

"Well, who said it was Don?" I asked jokingly. He gave a falsetto laugh. Don and I had come to an agreement that I wouldn't tell anyone about the pregnancy until I was absolutely certain, and it was absolutely necessary. "Coming back to the case at hand," I said, changing topic. I smiled wryly at Sid's (and my) habit for getting easily off topic.

"Oh, right. Preliminary blood test results show an excess of ketamine in her system," he said, handing me a file folder.

I took the folder in my hands, carefully reading the words. "The victim was 23, so it's very possible she took it for fun like most kids do," I answered nonchalantly, still reading the test results. Ketamine was one of those stupid drugs that whenever you see drug test with Ketamine on it, you think, 'What the hell.' Ketamine is primarily used for veterinary practices in the US, but in developing countries as a battlefield anesthetic. It was created as a safer version of phencyclidine, or PCP. But the teenagers who find 'Special K' a hoot at parties are amused by the temporary high blood pressure, elevated heartbeat and hallucinations the drug is famous for. It's also a good anesthetic, and thus a convenient knockout drug for whoever can get their hands on it, which was difficult considering it's status as a controlled substance.

Sid nodded, "But would she use it if she was pregnant?"

"What?" My head shot up a little faster than necessary.

"Levels of hGC in the blood suggests that she was 8 to 9 months pregnant. Her pelvic bones have begun to shift to widen the birth canal. Also, the presence of prenatal vitamins suggests that..." He trailed off.

I looked away from Sid and to the body of the young woman on the table. Her stomach, albeit slashed, was flat. Very, very flat. "If she was pregnant for that long... she would've been showing."

Sid nodded. "Stretch marks," he said, pointing to the faint lines on the skin.

"So if..." I couldn't formulate a question in my head. I spoke before considering my words. "Where the hell is that baby?" My hand shifted from my scar to my abdomen.

Sid sighed. "I don't know."

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ****. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ****. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ****. . . . . . . . . . . . **

A soft, New Jersey breeze blew through my hair. I pulled my light jacket tighter around me. Fall was definitely setting in. The leaves of the trees were turning brilliant shades of red, brown and orange.

The cemetery was peaceful today. A few of the headstones had flowers or pictures near them, and a few of the first fallen leaves blew over the ground. It had been a monthly ritual of mine since I was 24 and could work up the courage to come visit the cemetery where my mother was buried so we could talk. I wasn't sure if I believed in the afterlife at all, but it felt good to be close to her in a sense and just to talk to her like we used to. I hadn't missed a month except when the FBI gave me the assignment to go undercover with the Russian gang. I shivered when I thought about that. Don respected my privacy and did not push to come with me.

Her grave was located on a hill overlooking the rest of the cemetery, and a serene lake beyond. I knew she would've liked the view from here. The company whose truck driver killed my mother had paid for the funeral, the gravesite, and, I quote, 'reparations to a family who was torn apart by an accident.' They did it only to improve PR crap and after the funeral, we never heard from them again.

I made my way up there, the beautiful, black granite headstone shone in the sun.

_Sharon Margot Rousseau-Angell_

_Devoted wife and mother, beloved daughter and sister._

_December 1, 1944-July 22, 1993_

_"Sherry galloped through life without letting it catch up."_

"Hi, Mom," I said as I sat down, back resting against the headstone. I fingered the bouquet of tiger lilies in my hands. "I haven't visited in a while. I'm good. More than good actually." I just let the words flow unrestrained and unthinking as I told her everything about my time with the gang, about Amy and Andy, about the rape and my recovery. "I'm doing good now, though. I'm getting married. Remember Don? He proposed the other night. Mom, you would love him. He... He's the most amazing man I've ever met. I really wish you could be here for our wedding." I paused, as though I was actually talking to her. "I might be pregnant. I don't know for sure. I think I might just wait, but I really want to know. I was really freaked out at first, but now it seems just exciting." I paused again taking a breath. "You would've made an awesome grandma. I guess dad has Karen, but it's not the same."

The sound of my cell phone cut through the peacefulness of the cemetery. "Shoot. I have to get that," I told to no one in particular. I did not stand as I answered the phone. "Angell."

"Hi, Detective Angell. This is Jo Danville."

"Hi, Jo."

"I hope this isn't a bad time," she said apologetically.

"No, you're fine."

"Good. It turns out that our vic was married. Mac wants you to head over and talk to him."

"2340 Hanover?"

"That would be right." There was a small pause, and then, "Shoot."

"What?"

"I have another call on the line. Most likely my idiot son," she said with a chuckle. "Call me if you get anything." The line went dead.

I replaced the phone back to it's resting place in my pocket. I placed the flowers near the foot of the headstone. "I'll be back soon. I love you, Mom."

**Soo... reviews are good. I hope you're getting interested. Because I am. I guess I should be, cause this is my own story, but... Anyway, reviews would make me very happy. -Serena**


	3. Chapter 3

**Please read and review! I'll be your best friend! Well, you already are, so I guess you get... chocolate? :) Serena**

I stood alone outside the victim's house, where hopefully, a husband would be able to give me some useful information. It was a modest house, two floors, slate gray siding, reddish brown shutters. A large oak front door stood in front of me, stained glass panels decorating the very top. I knocked. "Mr. Madsen? NYPD."

I heard a lock coming undone. The door was opened, and a young man in jeans and a fitted t-shirt stood before me. He was slightly tan, dark hair, had well muscled arms, looked to be in his early twenties, and if I wasn't actually engaged to the sexiest man alive, I may have considered him to be the sexiest man alive. His blue eyes ran up and down my body, not being shy about checking me out. Attention I may have liked months ago now seemed just... rude. And gross. "Lucas Madsen?"

"That's me. What's your name, angel face?" Lucas said in a voice full of swagger, with what I thought was a Minnesota accent. It disgusted me that he was flirting with me, despite the fact that he was married- the gold band on his left hand told me as much.

I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing my last name, but I had to. I purposely held up my badge for his inspection with my left hand, the ring Don gave me sparkling in a noticeable way. "Homicide Detective Jessica Angell," after I gave him a good enough look, I lowered my badge, putting it back in my pocket. "I have a few questions to ask you about Kristen Madsen."

Concern sparked in his eyes. "What happened to Krissie?"

"Do you mind if I come in?"

"Sure," He opened the door wider. The room I was in looked to be a living room, and it was in much better condition than I expected. For some reason, I expected it to be some trashy dump, seeing as how I assumed two kids got married out of college because the girlfriend was knocked up. But the home was very nice, almost sleek and modern. The walls were pristine white, the floors a very, very light colored wood, and the furniture black. It looked like something out of a magazine.

I sat on one of the black couches, and he sat across the matching black coffee table in an armchair.

"What happened to Kris?" he repeated, his voice adamant. His flirtatiousness was gone, replaced with concern.

"When was the last time you saw her?" I asked. I tried not to answer the question they really wanted to know until it was absolutely necessary for them to know.

He leaned back. "Last night. We had a fight, and..." he trailed off, looking into space.

"Mr. Madsen?" I said, trying to get him to refocus. "Any details you have, I need to know."

He looked back at me. "Please tell me what happened to Kris. I need to know."

This was the part of the job that I despised. "We found the body of your wife early this morning. It appears that she was murdered." I watched his expression change from shock- then morph into pain.

"Damn," he whispered hoarsely. "Damn it."

He raised his head, but his eyes were like orbs of pain. Maybe they really had loved each other. "The baby?..."

I swallowed. Be detached, Jess. Be cold. Unfeeling. You have no personal interest. At all. "We are assuming that your baby is dead," I said, my voice betraying me and catching on the word dead.

He took two deep breaths, trying his best to keep himself together. "Assuming?"

"We..." It was my turn to try to calm myself. "We did not find a fetus as the crime scene."

"Oh god," he whispered. "Oh god."

"I'm so sorry. I can only imagine how you feel right now."

He all but ignored my sentiment. He kept his eyes plastered on the ground. "She thought I had an affair with my personal trainer, as cliche as that sounds. But I didn't. I love Kris, thats why we got married. We were both so excited for this baby." He paused, a single tear falling to the wood floor with an ominous _plick._ "I just can't believe she's gone."

"You know, we can do this another time. I can come back in a few days..."

"No, it's okay. You need it now. I get it." He looked up again, squeezing his eyes shut for a few moments before opening them. "She was raving, and crying, and then she just stormed out. I asked her where she was gonna stay, she just said at a friend's. I didn't want to press the issue, or make her flip out even more. So I just... let her go. And maybe if I hadn't done that she'd still be here."

I put a comforting hand on his arm. "Look, you can't blame yourself. There's nothing you could've done to change things from turning out the way they did."

"Why doesn't it feel that way?"

"It takes time," I told him wisely. And I knew what I was talking about. I stood.

"Do you know who killed her? If it's some crazy drug dealer, she doesn't run with that crowd any more."

"Wait, what?"

"Kris, she used to-" his sentence was cut off by my phone.

"I'm so sorry, I have to take this." I pulled my phone out. _Sid Hammerback-ME office. _"Angell."

_"Hello, Jessica, I have some results on Kristen Madsen that you need. You're with the husband so I figured that you could ask him about it."_

"Yep. What've you got?"

_"Decreased bones density and other indicators suggest that our victim was a reformed heroine addict."_

Heroine. Her husband's words played in my mind: _If it's some crazy drug dealer, she doesn't run with that crowd any more._

"Okay..." My thoughts were running wild, and we suddenly had dozens of suspects. "Anything else?"

_"Not at the moment, but I'll get back to you on that as soon as I can."_

"Thanks, Sid." I hung up, replacing the phone in my pocket. "You were saying?" I asked him. I had a feeling he'd been on the brink of telling me what Sid just did.

"Kris got really into heroine in high school. Like, really into it. She stole a lot of her parents money, and ran away from home. She lived with a drug dealer about ten years older than her for a few years. I ran into her near the NYU's campus one day, and we started dating. She told me that she was pregnant and would get clean. She went to rehab and when she came back, she was a totally different person. She started going to classes to get a psycology degree. We bought this house. We got married..." he paused, sighing. "We were so happy."

I was going to have to see Sid about when she stopped using. "I'm really sorry, but I need to leave. Here's my card if you need anything."

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . **

My shift had just ended, and I'd made a stop at a CVS/Pharmacy on my way home. I sent a quick prayer to whoever was listening that I wouldn't see anyone I knew. Despite my fears of seeing people I knew, I needed to know if I was pregnant. I needed to know if I had a little life growing inside me that Don and I had created.

I eagerly paced inside the store, searching through a few aisles before finding the home pregnancy tests. I was actually surprised at how many different brands there were. I pulled a random one off the shelf, hoping it was the right one. I had no idea which one I actually needed- it's not like I actually research this kind of thing. I walked up to the checkout, the teenager giving me a look as she rang up the test.

I just put it in my purse and began walking towards the sliding glass doors when I heard a voice I recognized. "Angell!"

Damn. I turned to the voice of Danny Messer. "Hey, Messer. What're you doing here?"

"Montana sent me out for some Doritos. Apparently, the kind in our apartment aren't good enough for her."

"Hey, don't knock the girl's cravings. You're denying your child food, Messer." I'd briefly seen Lindsay while I was undercover, and she'd been a few months along at the time. She was close to her due date and Lucy would have a baby brother or sister.

He rolled his eyes. "What about you? What are _you_ doing here? Doesn't Don want you attached to his hip or something?"

I gave a dry laugh. "I'm sure he'd love that. I'm actually here to get a prescription filled. Some antibiotic I'm still on," I lied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, then gritting my teeth. I'd always prided myself on being a (mostly) honest person, and I did not like lying.

I checked my phone, willing it to ring. It didn't. _7:36 PM_ it read. "I'd love to stand here and have some quality girl-talk with you, Messer, but I've got places to be."

"Right. Just be sure to keep it G-rated."

"Right back at you."

I left the store, his laughter behind me.

I arrived back at my apartment a few minutes later, shutting the door a little harder than necessary. I pressed my back against the closed door, before sliding down, knees to my chest. My hands dove into my purse, scrabbling for the test. Once I found it, I hastily threw the bag aside. I ran a finger over the front of the box, tracing the words _First Response_ that were printed in blue, block letters.

I had mixed feelings about this test. If it was negative, then Don and I could just get married without a kid complicating everything at first. I'd heard from family members and friends that babies put major stress on relationships, especially if the pregnancy was not intentional.

But if it was positive, our lives would be chaos. People at the presinct would think we got married just because of the baby, or think I was 'sleeping my way to the top.' I don't know how Danny and Lindsay manage two full-time jobs with little Lucy on their hands, not to mention baby number two on the way. But most of me found the prospect of having a baby exciting. My hand found its way over my deceptively flat stomach. I could have a little Don Flack growing inside me. My lips formed a smile. A perfect baby, part me, part him. I closed my eyes, envisioning him or her. I just hoped he or she would have his blue eyes. Our baby that we created together.

I dropped my purse next to the door, making my way to the bathroom. I carefully opened the box, reading the instructions on the side panel simultaneously. I did everything I had to, then the box told me to wait five minutes. Quite possibly the longest five minutes of my life. I sat on the tiled floor, drawing pictures with my finger, finding patterns in the paint on the wall. After singing most of a song that I only half remembered, five minutes had passed.

I scrambled up off my ass and snatched the pregnancy test sitting nest to the sink. I rested my elbows on the ledge, staying on my knees, afriad that if I stood, I'd fall over.

Because the test was freaking blue.

Blue as the ocean.

No other color could be mistaken.

It wasn't green.

It wasn't purple.

It was blue.

And blue meant positive.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the largesque rift in updates. Sports and theatre keep me very busy! not to mention finals are just around the corner. I hope this chapter makes up for the time ;)**

I had no idea what to do from here. Where to proceed. What course of action should be taken. So I just kept staring at the test. Thinking about the little human growing inside me.

I twisted away from the countertop, sliding down until I was sitting with one knee up to my chest, the other outstretched. I gently rubbed the skin of my abdomen, closing my eyes.

I tried to count back, to calculate when this could've happened. I mouthed numbers subconsciously, flipping back through the calendar in my head. I concluded that it must've happened that first night Don and I were back together. If the rape had gotten me pregnant, I would've been showing signs of it long before now. I breathed a sigh of relief at that notion.

Still clutching the positive test, and clamored over to the telephone in my kitchen. I dialed Don's number with speedy fingers, and held the phone to my ear. It rang exactly 2 and a half times before he picked up, "Hello?"

"Don, come over. Now."

"Jess, what's wrong?" His voice was panicked.

I sighed inwardly. He would never stop worrying about me. "I'm fine, just come over."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

I groaned. "Don, I'm fine. Get your ass over here before I come and drag you out myself."

He chuckled languidly. "I'll be there in five."

"See you then," I said softly. I replaced the phone in it's cradle, then I walked out to the living room, and sat myself down on the couch. I ran my fingers over the pristine white plastic of the test, tracing imaginary lumps and bumps with the pads of my fingers. My eyes remained locked on the blue. I couldn't believe I was pregnant.

What would be our course of action from here? Would we move in together? Would we stay the same? Either we'd have to get married very, very soon before I started showing or wait until after the baby was born because I did not have any intention of buying my wedding dress at a place called _It's Never Too Late._ Personally, I found the prospect of getting married soon extremely appealing.

Five minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. "It's open," I called. I knew he hated when I left my door open, but I did it anyway.

"You should really-"

"Lock my door, I know," I finished his sentence for him, then added, "But have you known me to ever listen?" He laughed, his voice carrying over from where the door was situated just behind me.

I could tell he was about to say something, but I flung myself off the couch, and nearly ran over to him, showing him the positive test with a huge grin on my face.

He soon mimicked my smile, and I flung my arms around him, my legs wrapping around his waist. His arms secured me in place and his lips found mine. Our tongues explored every inch of each other, and he pinned me against the wall. With the wall for support, his hands cupped my cheeks as he pulled away.

"We're gonna have a baby," he said, his voice breathless and a look of wonderment on his face.

"We're gonna have a baby," I repeated with a grin that made my cheeks hurt. He kissed me again, and I bucked my hips into his. He let out a moan, and began kissing down my neck and jawline. "I say we celebrate-" I said, but my words were lost in a gasp as he sucked on my pulse point.

"What kind of celebration?" he murmured against my skin. I knew that he already had the same celebration in mind. His lips meandered further, pushing the collar of my shirt away from my collar bones, his hands beginning to undo the buttons of my blouse that I'd worn today.

"The best kind," I whispered breathlessly. With that, his arms tightened around me and carried me off to the bedroom.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Later, we sat entangled in each other, skin to skin contact keeping us warm beneath the sheets. We lay on the bed, my back against his chest, his fingers stroking my hair. "Wow," I said.

"Yeah. 'Wow' seems pretty appropriate."

I laughed lightly, turning my body to face him. "So what do we do now?" After he gave me a confused look, I elaborated. "Should we move in together? I've still got six months on this lease, but there's only one bedroom."

He kissed me lightly on the lips, then, much to my disappointment, pulled away, looking me square in the eyes. "We'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it, Jess. We don't even know definitively if the test is positive. Set up a doctor's appointment and we'll take it from there."

I started to feel sleepy all of the sudden, and my eyelids began to droop. "Mm-kay," I answered tiredly.

"Get some sleep," he lightly chastised. He leaned in to kiss my forehead, but at that second, my eyes flew open, and I leapt out of bed, running for the bathroom. It was a photo-finish as I emptied my stomach, aiming for the toilet as best as I could.

My digestive system kept rolling, and I kept throwing up. It wasn't until the rolling has stopped, the buzzing in my ears had faded until I noticed Don gently holding my hair out of harm's way, his warm hand stroking my clammy forehead.

"You okay?"

"For now," I said, sounding on the verge of turning into a whine.

He helped me to my feet and then I shooed him out of the bathroom. "I need to brush my teeth, and I'm fairly sure you cannot help me with that."

He smirked. "Wanna bet on that?"

"No," I said, closing the door. I looked at my reflection in the mirror, surprised at how tired I looked. Not to mention the puke all around my mouth. "Welcome to pregnancy, Jess," I said to no one in particular, "Get used to it."

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

"Hey, Sid. Find anything special for me?"

"In fact, I did," said the doctor. He was leaned over the body of Kristen Madsen, and he was getting ready to repair the autopsy incision. I stood a little ways off, avoiding looking at the organs which were exposed by the autopsy. Even without looking at it, my stomach swirled uncomfortably. I tired to think about anything else other than the autopsy. I'd never liked autopsies, now the fact that my digestive tract hated me made my discomfort grow.

"The cause of death was bleeding out. A scalpel, which was used to cut into the abdomen, cut through a pulmonary artery. She would've been dead within five minutes."

"You said she was dosed with ketamine?"

"Yes, I'm assuming it was so that she wouldn't struggle while the killer..." his sentence faded. _While the killer cut her baby out of her._ It didn't need to be said.

"Defensive wounds?"

"Caused by a hand-to-hand struggle. Once her killer got the upper hand, they plunged the needle into her neck, right here," he said, pointing to a tiny hole in the skin just below her ear. He rested his gloved hands on the table, looking me in the eye. "This person knew exactly where to put the needle so it would have the best effect."

"So you're suggesting that this person had some sort of medical training?"

"That would be a fair assumption."

"Okay..." I paused, writing the information on a notepad, seeing as how I was terrible about remembering small details. "Anything else?"

"Skin under the fingernails. Ran the DNA through CODIS and every other database we have access to."

I smiled sadly, "No hits?"

"No hits," he confirmed.

My cell phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID. It was a number I didn't recognize and I realized it could possibly be the victim's husband. "I have to take this," I said to Sid, and he nodded.

"I still have a few tests to run, so I'll give you a ring when I get the results."

"Thanks, Sid."

I walked out of the autopsy room, my nausea subsiding a bit. "Angell."

"Detective Angell, this is Luke Madsen."

"Mr. Madsen, hello. How's it going?"

"It's going. But, I, uh, have some information you need."

"Okay," I said, my tone encouraging him to expound.

"This morning, Kris and my friend Hallie Lutterman called. She said that she heard about Kris getting killed on the news, and I'm pretty sure I heard her crying. She just told me how sorry she was and that Kris had come to her place that night. I couldn't really understand her because her baby was wailing in the background. I just told her I'd call her back when she was a little less tied up. She thanked me and hung up."

"Did she say anything about when Kris left her place that night?" There was a pause on the other line. "Mr. Madsen?"

"I know what you're thinking, but I want to stop you there. We've known Hallie since high school. She is a good woman. She's raising that kid of hers all by herself because her douchebag boyfriend left her, and she's got a full-time job. Kris and I trust her with our lives."

"I realize that, Mr. Madsen, but I have to ask these questions." My stomach clenched with sympathy. Or maybe it was pregnancy nausea. Wasn't easy to tell.

I heard him inhale, then exhale loudly over the phone. "I know. I'm sorry. I've just been so on edge since Kris..."

"I understand. I have a few more questions for you, though. Is that alright?"

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"Where does Ms. Lutterman live?"

"1237 Talleyrand."

"What does she do for a living?"

"Vet. Has a small practice over on Yukon Avenue."

Sympathy turned into horror. Veterinarians have easy access to ketamine. It's a common animal tranquilizer. I remembered Sid's comment about medical training. "One more question: Did Ms. Lutterman have any medical training?"

He thought a moment before answering. "Yeah she went to med school for two years before dropping out. She said that there were enough doctors to help people but not enough to help the animals."

My stomach dropped to my feet. Both Yukon and Talleyrand were ridiculously close to where we found Kristen's body, she has easy access to ketamine, and has medical training. Hallie Lutterman just became the prime suspect.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Madsen. If you can think of anything else, feel free to call me."

"I will, Detective."

I hung up the phone. I needed to go visit Hallie Lutterman.

**It's short! I'm sorry! Don't shoot, cause I promise next chapter will be longer *wink* only if I get reviews, of course :P**


	5. Chapter 5

**Happy fifth chapter! It's Thanksgiving break so I think i'll be able to get one or two more chapters up before school starts again. Plus, I got a major wave of writers inspiration for this story, so you'll be seeing the plot development spike sharply in the next few chapters :)**

I walked up to the crime lab from the autopsy room. I found Lindsay there with literally dozens, maybe hundreds of blood samples in front of her. I walked through the glass door, joining her next to the lighted table she was working at. I leaned my elbows on the edge of the table. "Wow, sucks to be you right now. Is this the Kristen Madsen case?"

She laughed half-heartedly. "Yep. You sure handed me a great one. We found two types of blood in the puddle, and now I have to check all the samples to make sure that there are no others."

"I think I might have a suspect. Husband said that the victim stayed with a friend the night she was murdered. She's a vet and has access to ketamine and has medical training."

"It seems like one of those slam dunk cases," she says, placing another sample under a microscope and looking into it.

I didn't voice my sympathy for the young couple torn apart, and possibly by one of their most trusted friends. I looked at Lindsay's giant stomach. She was due any day now. "All systems go?" I asked as I gestured towards her stomach. She placed a hand on her bulge, nodding.

"Had a doctor's appointment a couple of days ago. She says Daniel Jr. and I are all set," she said with a smile, writing something into an official report before dropping her pen, and finding another blood sample.

I grinned, asking, "It's a boy?"

Lindsay nodded, face aglow, "Danny and I decided we wanted to know. I mean, we did with Lucy. I think he just can't stand not knowing," she said with a laugh.

"Just what we need. Another Danny Messer."

"_Exactly _what we need," Lindsay said, almost a sigh.

"Lovebird," I joked as I punched her shoulder lightly.

"Right back at you," she commented with a smirk. "Did I ever say congrats?" Lindsay asked, examining my ring.

"Yeah, I think you did."

She shrugged, "Oh well, you can always use another one. Congratulations."

"Thank you," I told her honestly, then I bit my lip. I needed a doctor's appointment, and I knew Lindsay adored her obstetrician... "Linds, I have a really large favor to ask you."

She looked up from the microscope, "I'm all ears."

"I was wondering if I, um, could have, um..." My voice was getting softer and softer until it was unintelligible.

She stood from her stool, literally waddling over to where I was. She placed her hands on my shoulders, turned me towards her, and looked me straight in the eye. "Jess. Spit it out," she commanded, voice firm.

Just get it over with. "I'd like your obstetrician's number," I blurted, hoping I hadn't been too loud.

Lindsay's eyes widened in surprise, then she smiled. She hadn't been expecting that to be the favor. "Are you... pregnant?" she asked in nearly a whisper. I looked down again, fiddling with my hands. Lindsay repeated her question, "Jess. Are. You. Pregnant?"

My words came out in a babbling rush, "Well, I might be. I don't really know because I saw somewhere on the news, or at the doctor's office, maybe, I don't know, that those tests are wrong, like 40 percent of the time. Maybe thats wrong. Ten? Twenty? I don't know but I peed on the damn stick and it was blue, and blue means positive, at least thats what the box said meant I was pregnant and I need to schedule a doctor's appointment to make sure because I mean, what's the point of all the hullabaloo if I'm not even pregnant you know Don wants to know, and we might need to move in together and I just need to make sure-"

"Whoa!" Lindsay says, holding her hands up in a very clear _Stop_ sign. She rubbed my arms in a comforting way, holding my somewhat panicked gaze. "You can have the number. Dr. Goetz is amazing. Here, I have her card," she said as she reached into her jeans pocket. She placed the card in my palm, folding my fingers around it.

"Thank you so much Linds. I have one more favor: please, please, _please_ don't tell anyone. I want to make sure everything is okay before I go around telling everyone."

She made a motion of zipping her lips. "My lips are sealed."

I tried to hug her as best I could, the baby bump making it difficult. "Thank you so much. I owe you one."

"Don't worry about it."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Get doctor's number: check. "So, when I came up here, I was looking for Jo. Seen her anywhere?"

"Yep, she's in her office."

"Great, see you and Junior later."

I heard her peal of laughter as I exited the glass doors, heading for Jo's office.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

We pulled up to the small brick building on Yukon Avenue with a sign that read 'Making Tracks Animal Hospital and Rescue'. "I think this is it," Jo said, dryly stating the obvious. Stairs led to a clear glass door, the hours printed on it in white lettering. We walked in, a small bell chiming above us as we entered.

The check-in counter of light colored wood and black marble was directly to our left, a door behind had a small sign that read 'File Room and Lab'. To the left of reception looked to be four examining rooms and a large shelf of treats for animals of all types at the end of the short hallway. In front was the waiting room, filled with plastic chairs, cheap coffee tables, and out-of-date pet health magazines. The walls were painted a cheerful teal/kelly green mix. A few pictures of a pony, a Great Dane, and a grumpy looking Siamese cat filled the walls along with a plain white analog clock. A door stood at the far left of the room, and it read 'Rescue, Kennels, Overnight Observation, Storage.' _Talk about using limited space,_ I thought. There was only two other people in the room: an older woman with a sad looking St. Bernard on a six-foot red leash, reading one of the magazines, and a high-school aged girl with light green scrubs that matched the salon-quality highlights to her blonde hair on sitting behind the counter, listening to an iPod and writing in a file.

"Sad!" I heard a scratchy voice say, and turned to see a gray parrot sitting in a cage in a corner on a table that I hadn't noticed before. It appeared that no one had a claim to the bird, so I assumed it was owned by the practice. "She sad!" it squawked again.

I tried my best to ignore the bird. "That's going to get annoying real fast," Jo commented after the bird shot off another string of 'She sad's.

I walked up to the counter, leaning my elbows on it. "Excuse me, we're looking for Ms. Hallie Lutterman."

When the girl didn't respond, I tapped the small bell on the marble surface a little harder than necessary. Her head jerked up, yanked her earbuds out. "What?"

"We're looking for Ms. Hallie Lutterman. Where is she?" I repeated, trying to be as patient as my mood would allow.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked us dryly. _Unwilling participant _was written all over her face.

I showed her my badge, "Don't need one. NYPD and we have a couple questions for Ms. Lutterman, now where is she?"

Her face could not have lit up more if I'd just handed her the winning New York lottery ticket when I showed her my badge. Her day had just gotten a whole lot more interesting. "I am so going to Tweet this," she says, ignoring my question and taking out one of those new Droid phones.

I rolled my eyes. "Good for you, now where is Ms. Lutterman?"

"With a client. Room 2," she says without looking up, small clicks coming from the keyboard.

I was not in a good mood thanks to those damn pregnancy mood swings, and without thinking, I snatched the phone from her hands. "Hey!" she protested loudly. She grabbed for her phone, getting up out of her chair with a very pissed off expression. The woman with the St. Bernard looked amused. "I think it would be best if you got her for us. I don't want her clients getting the wrong impression."

She looked between Jo and I, "Don't look at me. She's the boss," Jo says. The great Receptionist looked as if she were about to throw a fit, settled for an epic pout, then went off to get her.

"I hope my future children will never be like that," I say, hoping I'm not revealing anything.

"Don't get those hopes up," Jo said, sarcasm heavy in her voice.

"Now gimme my phone back," Receptionist says, holding her hand out, eyes shooting me daggers. I handed the phone over, and she promptly sat down, continuing her Bleep or whatever the hell she said earlier.

"Can I help you?"

Jo and I turned to the voice of Hallie Lutterman. She was about five foot five inches, weighed 100-105 pounds, and had ridiculously curly auburn hair drawn back into a pony tail. Her eyes were really dark green, almost black. She wore sneakers, jeans, and a green t-shirt that hugged her almost bony form beneath the white lab coat. I could swear I saw ribs poking out from underneath the shirt, hipbones sticking out like arrows. Her face had a neutral, almost guarded look to it.

"Hallie Lutterman?"

"That's me."

"We are from the NYPD," Jo explained, "and we have a few questions about your friend Kristen."

Hallie's face fell. "Of course. Let's go somewhere more private."

She led us into the Kennel, Rescue, Overnight Observation room beyond the door in the waiting room. It was surprisingly large back hear. Rows of 7 foot by 7 foot kennels lined the walls. Clipboards hung from the chain-link doors to the kennels,a few of the clipboards with noticeable red stamps on them, saying 'RESCUE'. Most of the large kennels contained dogs, whole the others were empty. Further up the left hand corridor, there were smaller, stacked kennels that were made of what looked like stainless steel. Mesh gates prevented escape, and held in everything from cats to chinchillas. To the right, maybe five yards away from where we were standing was another door that read 'Isolation'. The floors were made of concrete and the fluorescent lights cast a strange glow on everything.

"It's pretty threadbare, but I don't really have the money to change it," she said.

Considering that she was our prime murder suspect, I strangely found myself kind of liking Hallie Lutterman. I knew I shouldn't, but I did. I began to hope that she wasn't the murderer, which was a dangerous thing to do in our line of work. Hoping things could severely alter our judgement.

"Lucas Madsen reported that Kristen came to your apartment the night she died, is that correct?" I ceremoniously flipped open my notepad, ready to take notes.

"Yeah. She was absolutely hysterical when she came over, raving about how Luke cheated on her. She was nine months pregnant at the time, so her moods were all over the place. I got her calmed down, and we just talked for a while. Once she was calmed down, she said she'd go home and apologize to Luke. Maybe if I had just kept her stay the night, she wouldn't be dead now," she said she she lowered her face into her hands.

When she did so, her sleeves rode up her arms, and I saw red welts along the skin of her forearms. Welts that looked consistent with clawing, and not by animals. Upon closer inspection, I saw raised skin on her jawline and neck, hidden by layers of makeup. I could just barely make out the red tracks along her skin. "What time did she leave your apartment?" I asked, trying not to stare at the welts.

"Around 1 AM, I think. I kind of shooed her out because I had to open the practice at six. And my little girl was having trouble falling asleep with us talking."

I smiled, albeit shakily, my mind still stuck on the welts, and asked, "What's your daughter's name?"

"Kaylie Anne Lutterman. She's 3 weeks old now." She didn't miss my stunned look as my eyes swept over her body. No way this woman gave birth three weeks ago. "I've been sick the entire time she's been home. I live off of a few crackers a day, if I can even handle that," she added with a lifeless chuckle.

I looked over at Jo. She didn't seem to buy it either, but I decided to let the subject slide. I could ask later. Time to ask the hard questions. "Where did those welts on your arms and neck come from?"

Panic came over her face for a split second before being replaced with that neutral expression again. I wondered if I'd imagined it. "Russian Blue cat got feisty when I gave him a heart worm shot."

"Those don't look like cat claws to me," Jo stated dubiously.

"Well, that's what happened," Hallie snapped. Her eyes were filled with anger. I was taken aback by her sudden change in mood, and subconsciously leaned away from her. The feeling of liking her, however fleeting, had vanished.

"We found skin under her fingernails. Is it yours?"

Hallie's eyes burned, but she looked about ready to break down in tears, "No! I'd never hurt Kris. She was my best friend. Maybe she scratched Luke, I don't know!

I'd arrived at my cold, detached form of questioning. "We would like to take a DNA sample from you, for comparison to DNA found on the scene."

"Not without a warrant!" she almost shouted, which caused a chorus of barking to erupt. "Quiet!" she hissed at the dogs. Surprisingly, they did. She turned back at us, neutral Hallie back in place. "I'm not going to be talking to you without my lawyer present. Now please, show yourselves off my property."

Jo and I exited without hesitation. I think we were both set on edge by this woman. We both did not speak until we were safely in the car, several blocks away. "Jesus Christ," I said, "That woman must be bipolar or something."

"Or depression. After giving birth, a lot of women go through it, especially if they don't have a spouse or partner to raise the child with. The stress can be too much and they can end up doing some pretty stupid things." I took my eyes off the road for a few seconds to look at Jo. Her expression was as smooth as any poker player, but I could tell she knew what she was talking about with this depression. Maybe from firsthand experience.

I sighed, eyes returning back to the road. "Either way, that woman's got a screw loose, and we need a warrant as soon as possible."

**No superbly long, but I liked where it ended. OMG it's 1:35 AM... HAPPY BLACK FRIDAY! first on my list: Chia Pet Obama. Kohls and JCPenney open in an hour and a half. Fab. Anyway, enjoy the beginning of the holiday season! Reviews make great gifts!**


	6. Chapter 6

**This story will probably be under 10 chapters. Maybe 11, but it's not going to be an epic trek like Undercover was. Anyhoo, enjoy! PS: very slight smut in this chapter. Slight... Very.**

I walked into my apartment at 7 o'clock in the evening that day. I tossed my purse aside, not really caring where it went, and flopped myself onto the couch, toeing off my shoes with a groan. It had just been one of those days. Meeting an absolute psycho, not being able to arrest her and make the city safer, and now waiting on a warrant by a judge so we could have some cause to go and arrest her.

"I thought I heard you come in,"

I jumped up from the couch, hand on my gun. Then I relaxed, "Jesus, Don. Don't do that to me."

He walked around the couch, his arms winding around my waist from behind. He placed soft kisses of my neck and murmured against my skin, "How are you and Baby Flack today?"

"Not well. Met an absolute maniac today, and she isn't cooperating so now we get to wait on a warrant. And Baby Flack hates everything I eat, so ipso-facto, I've been throwing up all day," I said, and my stomach gurgled loudly. "And I'm insanely hungry."

He laughed from behind me, kissing my cheek before he said, "I think I can help you with that."

"Did you just make a dirty joke? Or are you being serious?" I asked with a smirk.

He thought for a moment, "Both,"

I turned and faced him, grabbing a hold of his tie, and pulling him down to meet me lips. He kissed enthusiastically, then pulled away, hand trailing down my arm and then grabbing my hand and leading me to the kitchen. I groaned at the loss of contact. It didn't go unnoticed. "Don't worry, babe. Dessert always comes after dinner," he told me with a smirk.

"But there are always those cases in which it comes first!" I argued, although I realized distantly it was futile. I stopped arguing when I saw the table in my kitchen. Two candles lit the room with a very soft glow from the middle of the table. On my nicest china plates my sister-in-law had given me were steaks, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Steak was my absolute favorite food, and obviously Don knew that. Two champagne flutes had a bubbling, light-yellow beverage in them that I hoped wasn't alcoholic. I covered my mouth with my had with a tiny gasp. "You did this for me?" I asked incredulously. It was still a bizarre thing to me to have a man who cared so much, and not just about getting in my pants.

He kissed my temple. "You're worth it, Jess." I wanted to say _No I'm not,_ but I knew he wouldn't listen so I kept quiet. "You never lock your door, so I figured I'd come in and fix dinner."

He led me over to the table, sitting down on either side of it.

"A toast," he said, raising his flute.

"You know I can't drink."

"It's sparkling apple cider."

_I must've done something wonderful in a past life to deserve this man, _I thought as I smiled, copying his motion with my own flute. "To Baby Flack and to us." The glasses clinked together and I felt happier than I had all day.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

"Fuck yes, baby, right there!" I groaned as Don thrust in and out of me. Perspiration made our skin slick as I lay on my back, Don hovering over me. One of his hands was on my waist, the other on my hip, trying in vain to fuse our bodies together.

"Come for me, Jess," he whispered, his lips kissing my neck and jaw, sucking on the sensitive skin.

I felt my orgasm rushing up on me, and then I heard my cell phone ring from the bedside table, and it receded as fast as it had come. "Fuck," I hissed through my teeth.

"Let it go to voicemail," he said breathlessly. To aid his argument, he lifted my hips to change the angle of his thrusts, and I gasped as pure pleasure ripped through me. Whatever argument I'd thought up vanished. _What did I just need to do? Phone? Nah, it's not that important._

My hand found his neck, pulling him to my lips. We frantically kissed, my hands now groping at the skin of his back. His fingers found one my my nipples, twisting it, making me gasp. The ringing finally stopped, and Don smiled down on me, "God loves us, baby."

I met his smile with a sloppy kiss. Our movements were growing erratic, and I felt a spring coiling within me. Finally, the spring released, and I lost track of time and where I was. The only thing I was aware of were his hands, his strong, gentle hands holding me as I came down from my high. His soft lips placing small kisses along my neck and jaw. I finally reopened my eyes, meeting his loving blue ones. God, that would never get old, opening my eyes to the crystalline blue that was impossibly warm at the same time. "God, I love you so much," I said breathlessly, my hand caressing his cheek gently.

He leaned down and gave me a sweet peck on the lips. "I love you, too," he whispered as he pulled away.

After a bit of thought strategically placing my knee on his hip, hand on his shoulder, I was able to reverse our positions. I was now straddling his hips, and gave him a wicked grin. "Time for a little payback for earlier," I said deviously, feeling him stiffen at the memory.

My phone rang again just I leaned down to kiss him. I groaned, my head falling past his face and onto his shoulder on his shoulder, my eyes falling on the phone on the bedside table. "God damn it," I said breathlessly.

Don lifted my head from his shoulder, placing a gut-wrenchingly sweet kiss on my lips. "Do you really need to get that?" he murmured against my lips, "Really?"

"They've called twice. It's gotta be important," I said as I twisted away from him, pulling my legs off of him so I lay just paralell. He groaned, and moved us until we were spoonedtogether, my back against his chest, his arm draped protectively over my waist. "Angell," I answered. My voice was was still breathless and sultry from sex, and I hoped whoever was on the phone didn't notice.

"Hey, Angell. Am I interrupting anything?" The voice of Danny Messer was filled with so much sarcasm, I wanted to punch him.

"Since when do you give a shit?" I asked, a little more impatient than necessary. Since I'd begun talking, Don had begun placing tiny kisses on my neck, making shivers race down my spine and make putting down the phone sound more and more appealing with every second that passed. Especially considering the person on the other line who was currently gathering as much 'give-Angell-shit' ammunition as possible before I saw him next

"Since you became engaged to my best friend, that's when." Don's tongue began to lave over the skin of my neck and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning, which would only make Danny more insufferable.

"Sorry, what did you want?" My voice wobbled traitorously, and it didn't go unnoticed.

"I can call back, you know. You are giving me a lot of mental pictures that I really do not want in my head."

Don hit a particularly sensitive spot, and I let go a tiny gasp, but tried to cover it up by speaking, knowing I failed entirely, "Danny, I already picked up my phone. If you do not tell me why you called, then you will have a lot more to worry about than mental images."

"Are you sure? It's not a big deal."

"Oh, Don," I breathed an exaggerated moan into the phone, trying on purpose to make Danny as uncomfortable as possible. Don laughed, his lips kissing along my jawline.

"Oh my god, fine!" Jess- 1, Danny-0.

"Good, now what's up? Cause the longer we're on the phone the longer we can't-"

"I got it," he said, voice flat.

"I've finally broken him," I said with a laugh.

"Shut it, Angell. Listen, I've been going through all the information we've got on Lutterman. The husband said they all met in high school right?"

"Sort of. He said that they met in high school, didn't know them that well, but started dating Kristen in college. Why?"

"Both Kristin and Lucas Madsen attended a Catholic high school in Minnesota. Hallie Lutterman went to a public school in Texas."

"Why would he lie?" I mentally kicked myself. He lied to me, and I didn't even notice. I was way to emotionally invested in this case, and it had blinded my objectivity.

"I don't know, but after I found that, I was wondering how they met. I cross checked their names against everything from coffee house memberships to lawyers, and you won't believe what I found."

"Don't make me guess," I told him impatiently.

"Both Hallie Lutterman and our vic attended Hail Grove Rehabilitation Center a few miles north of Cayuga Heights."

Pieces fell into place in my brain, aided by the fact that Don had stopped attacking my neck, now looking at me intently, making it much easier to focus. "You are telling me that our victim met our prime suspect in rehab. Then what?"

I heard a pause, some clicks, then Danny's voice, "Lutterman got into a relationship with a man at the facility, Jesse Frocker, in for a meth addiction. I'm going to assume that that's who the father of her baby was, seeing as how the trio all left rehab the very same day."

I had pieces of the puzzle, but I just wasn't sure where to put them. _Why would the husband lie?_ The question nagged at me. Was he in on the murder somehow? Have a relationship with Lutterman, maybe?

"We need to track down Mr. Frocker."

"I'll get Jo on it right away."

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"Tracking down Mr. Frocker was harder than I anticipated. No drivers license, last known address was with Ms. Hallie Lutterman, and obviously he doesn't live there anymore." Jo told me as we walked through the crime lab.

"So where was he?"

"Found him in a soup kitchen on 12th Street. He's pretty cleaned out money-wise. Never got over his meth addiction when he left. He lived with Lutterman for a year, then bailed, and hasn't seen them since. I talked to him, and he said that Kristin and Hallie were inseparable when they were at the center. Like sisters. That's pretty much the only useful information I got."

"Say anything about Lucas Madsen?"

"Only that he was an honest guy."

I snorted. This guy really was slightly nuts. Maybe a little more than slighty. "Okay, so that gets us nowhere."

Jo nodded. "Pretty much."

"We need to pay the husband another visit," I said, just as I heard my cell ring from my pocket. I picked it up, the caller ID reading _Dr. Jen Goetz._ My obstetrician. I'd gone in a day prior just for the bloodwork, and I was surprised that it had come in already. "I've gotta take this."

Jo nodded, walking off to do her own thing. I walked into what seemed to be a bit of a deserted hallway, at least temporarily. "Angell."

"Ms. Angell, your blood work has come back," Dr. Goetz said, her voice betraying nothing.

"And?" Anticipation and a slight queasiness of fear wormed its way into my head. My stomach clenched, and I was afraid I might throw up. Not that that would've been surprising.

"You are most definitely pregnant, Ms. Angell. hGC in your blood is consistent with someone who's about six weeks along. I'd like to schedule another appointment when we can perform a full examination. I usually reccomend coming in at about 8 weeks, but I'd like you to come in as soon as possible. When you were shot, you sustained some serious damages to your reprodictive system. I'd say it's miraculous you conceived at all. I also want to make sure the antibiotics you took haven't harmed the baby at all."

We scheduled an appointment for next week. I said goodbye, hanging the phone up. I leaned my back against the wall, tilting my head back until I was looking at the ceiling. I felt my eyes drift shut as I stood against the wall. I had not had any fears about being pregnant until now.

But now, I was pregnant. I was pregnant, without a doubt. And now, the enormity of the situation made me panic. I felt tears burn behind my eyelids. What was I going to do? What if it hated me? What if I was terrible at being a mother? What if Don or I got killed? I shuddered at the thought. We'd had far too many close calls in the past, and I didn't want to imagine it happening again. A seed of happiness planted itself within me. Our little miracle. My little Baby Flack.

"Angell!" I closed my head, turning to see Jo walking towards me. Her face was concerned, as she took in my current position. I quickly wiped a hand over my eyes, noticing them imperceptibly shaking, just in case any tears had escaped. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just been feeling a little under the weather lately. What's up?" I straightened, trying to fake that whatever was on my mind wasn't bothering me.

Jo gave me a probing look, but decided to let it go. My guess was that she didn't want to pry for information I wouldn't give, and I really appreciated it. "Wanna come talk to the husband with me? I mean you're the lead in this case," Jo said.

My pregnancie terrors subsided temporarily. "Yes. We need to find out why he lied," I said, sounding a bit robotic.

Jo shot me another sympathetic look. "You sure you're okay? You can take off, you know. I'm pretty sure I can handle the husband."

"No, no. I want to."

Another dubious look in my direction. "You want to but you don't have to."

"Jo, I'm going," I snapped impatiently. A startled look came over her face, and I felt bad for getting so worked up over her kind offer for me to get some rest. "Sorry, I just really need answers."

She nodded. "Everyone has 'that case'. This is obviously yours, I get it. Let's go."

As we walked towards the parking for the department vehicles, I realized Jo was right. This was 'that case'. The one that makes you tick in all the wrong ways. The one that you lose sleep over trying to crack. The one that scares you to the bone.

Yeah, this was definitely 'that case'.

**Yes or no on the slight smut? I didn't want to change the rating for the story so I kept it slight and very very short. Was it too much for some people? Some people want more? I really want to know! More reviews means a faster update. A few words can mean the world to me!**


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm hoping to finish up the story here within two weeks (aka the end of the year). Please keep the reviews coming. They make great christmas gifts :)**

The knock on the door sounded ominously hollow as Jo and I waited on the front porch of the same house I'd been a few days prior. Except now, my attitude had changed entirely into a polar opposite. First time, I'd come with sympathy, seeking only the information the assumed traumatized husband was willing to give. Now, I imagined that I looked akin to an angry bull ready to charge at a matador. I'd been lied to. Lucas Madsen played a key role in this murder, I was sure of it. I was going in there ready to do whatever necessary to get my answers.

He answered the door as if nothing was amiss. He smiled wide, his impossibly white teeth looking to me like a bulls eye for a fist. Preferably mine. He wore no shirt, just jeans slung low over his hips, showing a few inches of red plaid boxers underneath. I may have considered him to have an amazing body at one point in time, but now, I just saw him as a false illusion. He may put on a show to seem like a great guy, but underneath, it was a roiling mass of nastiness and deception.

"Hi, Detective Angell," he greeted me as if we were old friends. He looked past me to Jo, giving her body a once over before extending a hand past me, nearly shoving me out of the way to greet Jo, sending her one of his mega-watt smiles. "And who are you, my lovely lady?"

Jo gave him a humorless smile, ignoring everything about the guy standing in front of her. She ignored his hand, opting to show him her badge instead. I smirked. "CSI Josephine Danville. Mind if we come in?" Not waiting for a reply, we stepped into the house.

I had a feeling my pal Luke here didn't get snubbed by females very often, his voice unsure when he answered, "Mi casa es su casa," trying to be weakly witty. He shut the door, and the three of us took on seat on the impersonal couches furnishing the living room. It was ironic- the name 'living room'. I hadn't realized this before, but the living room looked like no one lived here. It looked like a photo out of a magazine. There were no magazines or books, no coasters or old drinks. As a matter of fact, the whole thing was spotless. It would be hard to grow attached to this room. Like someone was trying to distance themselves from their reality.

I brought myself back to my own reality and away from the iffy psychology of profiling after Luke asked if any developments had happened in Kris's case.

"As a matter of fact, yes, there have been a few developments." It was Jo who answered. I shifted uncomfortably on that damn couch.

He hadn't been expecting that. The bewildered look on his face confirmed it. Probably assumed the murder had been airtight. Well, he was about to get a rude awakening. "Mr. Madsen, when and where did you Kristen, and Hallie meet?"

Last chance. If he told the same story, we had him.

He gave me a confused look, and my fists itched to plant themselves on his face. Instead, I opted for a more legal pathway and folded them, white-knuckled, in my lap "I thought I told you this already?"

"Always have to double check," I said, smiling in a saccharine and sweet manner that literally made me feel sick to my stomach.

"High school. We all met in high school. I didn't know them that well 'til I started dating Kris in college."

Jo and I gave each other looks. Yeah, he was an idiot. "Mr. Madsen, are you aware that Ms. Hallie Lutterman attending a public high school in Texas for all four of her high school years of education?" I asked, leaning forward, wanting to savor his reaction. "Never transferred. Never visited. In fact, the first time she probably saw snow was at Hail Grove Rehab Center."

I saw recognition and panic flash through his eyes for a brief second, before being replaced with a cool poker face once again. "Look, there must be some mistake. Kris, Hal, and I met-"

"After they were released from rehab. There's no mistake, Mr. Madsen," Jo assured.

After that, I could see everything falling apart before me. The carefully crafted story that was supposed to be irrefutable had just been repudiated, and he was struggling to pick up the pieces. Then I saw some invisible force crack, and with it, went his determination. "Fuck it. Hallie and I were in love."

_Called it._ I thought to myself.

"I knocked up Kris when she came back from rehab. She was all pissed, even though it wasn't even my fault. She was supposed to be on the pill." He seemed genuinely angry about Kris getting pregnant, and I found myself pretty damned angry about it. I was about to say something, but Jo put a gentle hand on my knee, silencing me.

"After Frocker got her pregnant, we decided Kris and I would get a divorce once Hallie's baby came. That's why we were arguing that night when she left."

Jo's hand couldn't stop me now, "Where's Kris's baby?" I couldn't beat to say _your baby._ It never was his baby. He acted as though he never wanted it, and frankly, I found myself getting more and more pissed off by the second.

"What?"

I gritted my teeth. "Kris's. Baby. Where. Is. Kris's. Baby?" I said, slowly enunciating each syllable.

He was silent; I heard a gentle voice from Jo. "Luke, you're going to jail no matter what. If you cooperate, it'll do you a lot of good in court." _She's going for the good cop, bad cop thing. Classic._

Luke seemed to accept her logic, continuing his sickening tale. "Hallie got really... depressed after Kaylie was born. She... didn't really tell me what happened, but said that Kaylie wouldn't stop crying and now she was dead."

I felt nauseated again. What crazy bitch would kill her own child? I felt dangerously close to losing my lunch all over the spotless coffee table.

"Hallie came up with a crazy plan, saying that she saw it on TV. Kris was fully to term, and Hallie said that she'd knock her out and do a c-section." I fought to keep my vomit in my body, but it was stubborn, and I found myself hardly able to listen as Luke continued the story that made containing my vomit increasingly harder. Jo must have sensed me tense up because she placed a hand on my shoulder, which did very little to distract me. "Kris already knew she was having a girl, so Hallie seemed totally gung-ho about the idea. I tried to talk her out of it, but once she sets her mind on something, it's gonna happen, no matter how much you try to reason with her." He paused and started talking again, "Look, this isn't Hallie's fault. She's a great mom and would never do anything to purposely hurt her baby," he reasoned quietly. I heard him continue saying things under his breath that were inaudible, but I paid him no attention. My stomach was in full-fledged panic mode and I was afraid I wouldn't make it out of the house in time.

So it had been Hallie after all. In my gut, I'd known this already, but hardly had anything concrete. For all we knew, Luke could be lying to us now. But honestly, I was past caring at this point.

After sitting still and silent for a moment, Jo saved me by standing and taking out her cuffs. "Mr. Madsen, you are under arrest for the suspicion of murder in the first degree and obstruction of justice. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law," Jo read him his rights, but I didn't hear the rest because after I heard the cuffs lock into place, I bailed out of the house. I burst out of the front door, running down the steps, finding bushes located conveniently in front of the porch.

I managed to sweep my hair out of the way before I vomited into the bushes. I knew this wasn't morning sickness- that had quieted somewhat. And there was a feel of almost normality about morning sickness, a sign that the little person inside me was chugging along just fine. This was something different. I could hear nothing except for the roaring in my ears. My throat burned with the putrid acid that was now forcing its way out of me. I felt tears sting in my eyes. The only thing I could thing as I was hunched over in the bushes was _How could she?_ How could she have killed her own daughter? I could not come up with any sort of logic that would warrant killing a defenseless infant.

I don't know how long I leaned into the bushes, but when I finally came to, I realized Jo was crouched next to me, a hand rubbing my back. She must have loaded Luke into the car already. "You okay, Angell?"

I stood, my knees slightly wobbly. I spat some foul-tasting spit into the bushes, wiping a thumb underneath my eyes to catch any escaped tears. In a slightly hoarse voice I said, "I will be once we get that bitch behind bars."

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Back at the precinct, Jo and I got Luke into a room with one of the NYPD interrogators so that he could tell us the story on camera. Jo and I watched from behind the mirror as he recanted the exact same tale he'd told us. "Either he's an extremely good liar," Jo sighed, "Or he's telling the truth."

I still couldn't believe the horrid crime he was describing. It made me even more sick now that I was carrying a baby of my own. I couldn't imagine hurting it in any way, shape, or form, and I felt a bit of the nausea return, although I wasn't worried as I was pretty cleaned out thanks to the episode in the bushes. I balled my hand into a fist. "We've gotta go bring Lutterman in."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jo look over at me. I didn't return the look however, and turned to exit the room. "Angell,"

I was halfway of of the room, contemplating not stopping. Instead, I hooked a hand around the door frame, turning my head towards her. She gave me a comforting smile, "We'll get her. I hope you know that."

I gave her a small smile with no real warmth in it. "Can you round up some backup? I have a feeling she's not going down easy," I said, sounding robotic again. I then left, continuing on my previous destination to get my Kevlar vest from the armory. I suddenly felt chilled to the bone for no reason. My skin was clammy and butterflies were having a party in my stomach. My skin felt as though it were being delicately pricked by tiny little needles. Everything in my heart was screaming at me: don't go. I didn't know why, I frankly, I didn't want to think about it. I just wanted to get Hallie Lutterman in a jail cell where she couldn't hurt anyone else. I'd reached the armory, and began to put on my vest, doing my best to ignore the feelings of dread creeping over me. I did the last Velcro, and after thanking the officer on duty at the armory, headed for my desk where I'd gun up. I stopped by the break room, snagging a granola bar from a cabinet. My stomach had started to grumble, and-I thought somewhat gleefully- I was eating for two and did not want to short-change my baby in any way.

I passed the locker room, chewing the last bit of the granola bar, and noticed Don going inside. My bizarrely ominous feelings quieted as a happy buzz vibrated through me.

I tossed the granola bar wrapper in a trash can and pushed through the door, finding him taking his shirt off, locker door open. I was happy we were completely alone and waltzed up to him. His back was to me, and I placed my hands on his waist, resting my head on his still-clothed shoulder blade. I smirked as I felt a shudder of surprise run through him. "Hey you," I murmured, laying a light kiss on his back through the fabric.

He rotated himself so that his arm hooked around my left hip, which was cloaked in the heavy Kevlar vest, and pulled me in front of him, my back pressed against the lockers. Truth be told, I was extremely turned on right now, but I tried to ignore it.

We still tried (in vain) to keep a low profile on our relationship. I'm sure everyone in the precinct had noticed my ring by now, but very few people had had the courage to ask me about it. Those who did, however, I told them the truth. Word of mouth had probably spread the fact of our engagement over the entire city. We may as well have put up a banner saying, _Det. Don Flack and Det. Jessica Angell are engaged. _In fact, i was pretty surprised the captain hadn't talked to me about it. I mean, Don and I were partners- that couldn't happen if we were engaged, right? As much as I loved working with him, I'd give up being his partner in a heartbeat if it meant we could be together._  
_

The gossip and stares bugged me a little, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. In fact, I was pretty proud when I told the courageous few who gave me the ring. Whenever Don and I when out, I always noticed jealous glares coming from women when they spied his arm around my waist. The ring pretty much solidified the fact that he was mine, and I was his. And that was the way I liked it. And that was the way I wanted to to stay forever.

He lowered his mouth to mine and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips before pulling away. "Hello, yourself."

As much as I enjoyed the heady contact between us, I suddenly remembered my purpose. I had to go arrest Hallie Lutterman.

I must have grimaced, because Don's hand found my cheek, his thumb gently running over it. "Are you okay?"

I opened my mouth to say I was fine, but in truth, I wasn't. The eerie sense of dread had returned, and I began to wonder, am I really fine? Instead, I sighed and looked down, not answering.

He tilted my chin back up to look at him. "C'mon, Jess," he pleaded, his eyes probing, "You can talk to me."

"I know. It's just..." I sighed. May as well tell the whole truth. "I don't really know. I have this weird sense of dread whenever I'm thinking about arresting Lutterman. Is that bad? Am I crazy?" My questions sounded garbled and over-anxious.

He chuckled cupping my cheek in his warm hand. That alone was making me feel better. "No, you're not crazy. Cops have instincts. Yours is telling you this is going to be dangerous." He looked me in the eye. "Please be careful, Jess," he said, his voice grave and serious.

I smiled. Some things never change. "I know. I always am."

I saw a hint of a smile play on his lips. "Not when you don't lock your door."

"You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Nope."

I rolled my eyes. "As you were saying..."

"I've come so close to losing you too many times in the past. Don't put me through that again."

I smirked, "I know. I'll be careful."

"But it's not just for you," he said; I noticed his voice had taken a pleading note to it. "You've got to protect our baby, Jess. I don't know what I would do if I lost either of you."

My light-hearted mood had vanished. I admit, I've always thrown my life in front of others to protect the ones I love. But Don's comment suddenly made me think- I'm not alone any more. I'm responsible for the life of our child and I have to do anything to protect it. I pulled Don into my arms, hugging him tightly to me. "I'll do anything to protect our child, Don. I hope you know that."

He pulled away, still remaining close. "I do," he whispered, kissing my forehead. "But I still worry."

"Some things never change," I said, smiling at him. I pulled away, turning towards the exit, and out of his arms. "Now I have to go an arrest a monster."

His hands caught one of my shoulders and I stopped, turning to look at him. "Bring some backup, and go in last." I was about to protest, but he put a finger to my lips. "It's in your nature to lead the charge, but please. Just go in last." The concern in his eyes was so potent I felt as if I'd melt.

"I know. I promise I'll be careful, call for backup, and go in last," I recited, feeling good when he smiled in approval.

He hugged me quickly one last time, burying his hands in my hair and nestling his face in the crook of my shoulder before releasing me. He held onto one of my hands, and gave it a squeeze. His eyes conveyed everything I needed to know. We didn't need words for me to know what he meant.

**Just a heads up- my internet is down and i won't be able to find a lot of access to the internet to write, but i'll try my best to get chapters to my faithful reviewers *hint... hint...***


	8. Chapter 8

**"Merry Christmas!" says Serena in a Jim Carey-like fashion. This chapter is a (late!) christmas gift for all my faithful readers (even if you don't review :P) Please enjoy it!**

Jo and I sent two patrols to Lutterman's practice- though I doubted she'd be there on a Saturday evening. Jo, myself, and two different patrols were outside Lutterman's, though I'm sure the whole department wanted to be here. After word had gotten around that there was a baby-killing lunatic roaming the streets, a lot of interest was generated, both within the department and in the city. The media had jumped on this one like a starving dog might go after a hunk of meat. Public outcry on this case was enormous, and it seemed as though the captain was pushing me for an arrest. He had even casually brought up giving the case to one of the first grades so the media couldn't attack my 'lack of experience'. I dismissed it quite voraciously and he'd left the subject alone since. A lot of officers and detectives alike had offered to help, and I'd used the ones that I could. There's a figurative list that cops have, each crime ranks somewhere on said list. Some crimes were considered absolutely heinous and unforgivable. I am positive that killing babies ranks number one on that list.

The house was still, but that didn't mean that she was not there. We were waiting for a report from the two officers who searched her practice that was due any minute now. I had my nine millimeter in my hands, and I nervously fidgeted with it, removing the magazine, checking the bullets, and then promptly shoving it back in, only to repeat the process again. I sat on the hood of the car, one foot resting on the wheel, the other keeping me balanced on the ground. I just wanted to get this behind me, to put an end to the dread swirling in my stomach.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, the radio crackled to life, and I jumped a little in surprise. I replaced my gun in it's proper holster and answered. "Practice is totally clear, except for a few dogs and one extremely annoying parrot."

I was about to say something back to the patrol when I froze. Something fell together in my head when the patrol mentioned the parrot. I remembered when Jo and I had visited, and getting annoyed by the parrot constant squawking. _She sad! _It would say, over and over and over. _She sad! She sad! She sad!_ Luke's words also came to mind, and I scolded myself for not connecting the dots until now: _"Hallie got really... depressed after Kaylie was born..."_ Maybe something happened at the practice that made the parrot start relaying that message.

"Thanks, Garblin," I said, addressing the patrol to which I was talking, "Can you just do me one more favor?"

" 'Course I can. What do you need?"

"Check around the practice for any freshly over-turned dirt anywhere. If you find any, follow evidence protocol and _dig_," I said. I had no idea if I was right and was making rational decisions or if I was totally making insane quantum leaps because I just wanted this case to be over. In any case, I just had to know if I was right.

"Anything in particular that we're looking for while we're playing in the dirt?"

"Be on the lookout for-" my words stuck in my throat. It took concentration and effort to say those five words that cut me to my core, "the body of an infant." I'd just barely managed to get the words out of my mouth, sounding a bit strangled.

Silence over the radio.

"Garblin, you there?" I asked after a few moments with no response.

"Yeah," he stated, voice flat, "We got it."

I hesitated before speaking again. "We're gonna get her," I said, not sure if I was saying that to the patrol on the radio or to comfort myself.

There was no pause before a response this time, "You better, Angell. Good luck."

I disconnected. I felt cold, hard resolution flow through me, easing any of my previous discomforts about his case. We had her. I suddenly wished I had enlisted the help of more patrols. I gathered together my group of four. "Okay, there are two points of entry, front and back. Jo and Halliday, you cover the back door," I said, nodding to Jo and the red-headed man who, before this day, I had never met. They nodded in agreement.

The other officer, a woman, I had met before. She was a pretty Latina woman named Lucia Hernadez. She had coal black hair, and eyes so dark you couldn't make out where her pupil ended and iris began. I liked her, and we'd developed a really solid friendship. We'd worked together on a lot of cases since I'd arrived in New York, and we went out for drinks every now and again and had found we had a lot in common. She was born in the Bronx, and she was the toughest person I knew. She also was snarky and sarcastic, which (obviously) appealed to me. "Hernandez and I've got the front."

We parted, taking radios so that we could enter the house at the same time. Once we were alone, and walking up to the door, Lucia smirked at me. "Good to see you, Angel Face," she said, her Spanish accent nearly indiscernible.

I returned her smirk. "You too, Lucia." 4 years ago, shortly after we'd met, a perp had called me 'Angel Face' after he learned my name, and tried to feel me up. He earned himself a broken nose and dislocated shoulder and charges for assaulting an officer. Since Lucia had seen the whole thing, she promptly started calling me 'Angel Face' because she'd been extremely amused at my reaction. She was the only one who got away with it. I hadn't seen her or heard the nickname since I'd gotten shot and it felt good to hear it again.

"I heard you got pretty fucked up," she said, her voice uncharacteristically caring, and her tone contrasting sharply with the coarseness of her words.

I let out a strained chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"I read the reports," she said, "Was it really a Desert Eagle?"

I sighed. I pulled up my shirt and lifted my Kevlar out of the way, revealing the scar, deep purple in some parts, fading in others. She examined it with a careful eye. I thought she'd make a good detective if she ever got promoted. "Yeah. Took one to the shoulder too, apparently." She gave me a questioning look at the last sentiment. "I can't remember a lot of it," I explained, "Lost a lot of blood. No one thought I'd make it."

"For a long time, we didn't."

We had reached the front door, taking opposite sides of the door as was out usual position. "You go first," I said to Lucia.

A very surprised look crossed her face. Actually it was more like flat out shock and disbelief. "The Jessica Angell I know is always the one to go first. If anyone suggests otherwise, she bites their heads off."

Lucia knew me well, and I knew I couldn't get out of this one. I smirked at her and her description of me. "I know, but..." Shit, I'd promised Don we wouldn't tell anyone yet. Not even our parents knew.

"But what? We gotta go in soon," she prompted, gesturing to the door with her drawn weapon.

"I'm pregnant," I said in a low voice, and then glanced over my shoulder, oddly paranoid that someone would overhear.

She didn't seem surprised when she asked, "Don's?" She was one of the very, very select few who knew about our relationship.

"No, that other guy I'm sleeping with," I said sarcastically, my voice barely above a whisper. "Of course it's Don's!"

"I heard you two were tying the knot. Congratulations."

"Thanks. So will you go in first?" I hoped I looked pleading enough.

She sighed, "Well, I suppose I could take a bullet for you and Tiny Flack. But you owe me. Drinks?"

"Pregnant."

"Damn. Coffee?"

"Caffeine. I'm pregnant, Lucia. Puts a lot of restrictions on what I ingest," I said wryly.

"Jesus Christ, doughnuts then? Or bagels or something, I don't care."

I smiled genuinely at her, "Of course."

Lucia knocked on the door. Well, 'pounded' or 'hammered' would be a better word. "Ms. Lutterman? NYPD, open up." It never failed to surprise me how intimidating she could sound. There was no response. She tried the doorknob. Locked.

We heard Jo over the radio. "We're ready on our end."

"Okay, on three," I answered. "One, two, three!"

Lucia used her shoulder to break through the door, the tiny Latina shockingly strong. A few stray bits of wood rained on me, but I didn't notice. I heard a baby crying coming from the upstairs. Lucia set about clearing the rooms, and I went for the stairs. I saw Jo had beaten me to them and was now carefully making her way up the red-carpeted stairs.

I followed close behind her. "First level is clear!" I heard Lucia holler. We reached the top and I restrained myself from charging ahead of Jo, Don's worried face flashing through my mind. There were only three rooms in the second level. A bedroom, a bathroom, and what I assumed was the nursery, hearing the baby crying from behind the door. Jo and I cleared both the bedroom and the bathroom, and by that time, Lucia and Halliday had caught up with us. I let myself fall behind them, but I'm sure Jo didn't notice. I now saw the woman Mac had hired- the FBI agent. Her eyes were trained solely on the door, her gun poised and ready to shoot at a moments notice. She looked like a leader.

The door was slightly ajar, and we filed inside. I was the last one in, much to my chagrin, gun pointed.

Lutterman stood with her back to us, gently rocking the wailing baby, who refused to stop crying. Her skinny arms looked so fragile holding the plump, little baby. And when something looks fragile next to a _baby,_ that's really saying something.

"Lutterman, put the child back in her crib, and turn around slowly with your hands up."

She did one of those things. She turned around slowly, almost imperceptibly, to face us. Her face was streaked with tears, but she did not sob. "I'm a good mother," she said, her voice shaking uncontrollably. I scanned her body, praying for her to be unarmed. When I didn't see any guns on her, I let out a breath of relief.

"I'm not going to ask you again, put your daughter back in her crib and put your hands up," Jo said in a daunting, commanding tone.

"I'm a good mother," she said again, a little louder this time. She stepped towards us, and our impenetrable wall of people shrank back a step. "If you take another step, I will be forced to shoot," Jo said, her voice getting louder.

"I'm a good mother!" screamed Lutterman. Her face was red and puffy, Kaylie still crying in her arms. Her eyes found me, and I saw pleading in her eyes- pleading for us to just understand.

I could sense Jo was about to say another string of threats, but I held a hand up to stop her. "I got this," I muttered in a low voice. I holstered my weapon, knowing if she so much as sneezed, three bullets from my colleagues would meet her. "I know you are," I said quietly, approaching her slowly and non-threateningly, the way someone would approach a wild animal.

She sniffled, "What?" Her voice was now small and far away.

"What happened to your baby was an accident," I said, going for the most soothing tone possible. Sometime between the first time I saw her and now, I'd come to the conclusion that this woman was sick. Schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and depression could all explain her actions. I had a feeling that after her trial, she'd be headed off to a mental institute.

She nodded vigorously, happy I understood her. "I didn't mean to shake her so hard," she said, her voice breaking on nearly every word, "She wouldn't stop crying and I just lost it." Her tears redoubled, still streaking noiselessly down her face.

I was a few feet away from her now, and I reached out to take the baby. "Give her to me, Hallie."

"She's all I have left," she whimpered, wiping a few tears away with her shoulder.

"But she's not yours," I said softly, silently begging for her to go quietly.

"I'm a good mother," she said again, focusing solely on me.

"I know you are, but she has a family to get back to. Her real family. What if someone took your baby? Wouldn't you want her back?"

She was silent for a full minute before nodding slowly, accepting my logic. I stepped forward, putting my arms around Kaylie, but Hallie didn't let go.

She leaned down and kissed the little girl's head, and I heard her murmur, "I love you, baby girl."

She reliquished her hold on the baby, and she dropped to her knees on the floor, burying her face in her hands and letting out horrible, gut-wrenching sobs that wracked her frail body.

I backed away from her quickly, the baby still crying in my arms. I carried her down the stairs and outside, wanting to be as far away from the house as possible. Once I had emerged form the house and was in the yard, I gently rocked the wailing child, trying to calm her down. When that didn't work, I started singing. I remembered a lullaby that my mother used to sing to me. She had the most wonderful voice, and I knew I couldn't do it justice, but I tried any way.

_Hushaby, don't you cry  
Go to sleep, little baby.  
When you wake, you shall have,  
all the pretty little ponies._

Kaylie had quieted, listening to my voice as I recalled the rest of the words.

_Blacks and bays,  
Dapples and grays,  
All the pretty little ponies._

I couldn't remember if there were any more words to it, so I just sang it over and over until she was asleep in my arms. I surprised myself when I looked down and saw her peaceful face. I was never really great with children. I always found myself being super awkward near them and never getting anything right. One of my finer moments as a failure in child-rearing was when I babysat a 3 month old Sharon, my brother Ryan's daughter. He and his wife Lana had decided to go out for the first time since becoming parents, and I had assured them I could handle it. In the short span of two hours, I managed to get baby puke all over myself, get baby food in every crevice of their kitchen, nearly drop the baby down the stairs, and lose her in their back yard garden. To top it all off, she had been crying for most of the time.

Yet right when Ryan and Lana got home, she started squealing happily and reaching for them like they were candy. My brother had taken in my appearance, saying, "Do I need to know?"

"No, you really don't."

And now here I was, having stopped her crying and put her to sleep. Truth be told, I was feeling pretty proud of myself. I didn't know what changed- maybe now that I knew I was going to have a child, my deeply buried mothering instinct had awoken in me. Or maybe it was just pure luck, I am honestly not sure. All I knew was that for the first time in my life, it felt right to have a baby in my arms.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

We arrived back at the precinct. Jo had contacted Child Services, and they were on their way to pick up Kaylie. They'd found Kristin's parents living in Ohio, and (thankfully) they'd been enthusiastic about taking in their grandchild. They were still young, in their fifties, and were fully prepared to take full custody of the infant. I was glad she'd be a part of her real family and not have to be bounced around in the foster care system.

Kaylie was now awake, and I just meandered around the department, trying my best to keep her quiet. Her hazel eyes flicked around, her fresh little mind trying to take everything in.

I found myself in the break room, and I sat down, bouncing her on my knee. Jo said that Child Services would be there in fifteen minutes, and I found myself sad to let her go. She was a cute little thing- barely there tufts of hair and bright hazel eyes. Her skin was smooth and I got the biggest kick out of her little feet.

I heard my stomach grumble (the granola bar apparently hadn't lasted long). I hoisted Kaylie onto my hip, feeling like I had done this for ages. I dug a crumpled dollar bill out of my pocket and made my way over to the vending machine. I'd had the biggest craving for Cheetos that day, and I immediately pressed the buttons and saw the little orange bag drop. I was about to reach into the machine to get it when I heard, "That's a good look on you."

I stood and saw Don leaning on the doorframe. I smiled when I saw him, forgetting my Cheetos temporarily and walking over to him. I wanted to hug him tightly and never let go, but Kaylie had decided my hair needed tasting, and she stuffed a lock into her mouth. I laughed, teasing the hair from her mouth gently, "No, Kaylie, you don't eat that," I scolded gently.

He leaned in and kissed my cheek. "You look like such a mom," he said when he pulled back, a smile on his face.

"Should I be offended?" asked, returning his grin.

"No. It's actually quite a compliment."

I grinned wider, feeling like I might burst with happiness. The case was closed. Don and I were getting married. I was pregnant. It was so much good I could hardly believe my luck. I'm no complainer, but I've always had some bad thing going on in my life at any given time- I guess in being a cop that could be expected. But there was always something going wrong, something that would pull any good mood down. But now that I thought about it, I couldn't think of a single thing. And I hoped vehemently that it stayed that way. "Would you mind taking her? I've got a date with some Cheetos waiting for me in the vending machine."

"Not at all," he said, offer his arms. I gently placed the little one in Don's arms. I trusted Don wholly with her, but as soon as I let go of her, I began to worry about her. I finally understood how some mothers can be so doting on their kids. A lot of those 'You'll understand when you're older' answers finally made sense.

I breathed out, doing my best to ignore the feelings and I walked back over to the vending machine. I reached into the machine, feeling around for my bag of Cheetos. I pulled them out, and in less than a second, had them open, one popped into my mouth. "Mmm," I moaned, the taste of processed cheese quenching my crazing exactly. "God, these are so delicious," said as I turned around.

Now I'd seen a lot in my life. I'd seen the best and the worst, the most beautiful and the most ugly. But I could swear on the Holy Bible that there was nothing more precious than my fiancee holding Kaylie. He was making faces at her, and I thought I saw amusement in her tiny eyes. She apparently had a fascination with his nose, and kept reaching out, squeezing it in her tiny fingers. He was absorbed in keeping her amused, his crystalline blue eyes intently focused on her hazel ones.

I leaned against the vending machine, popping Cheetos into my mouth, watching Don play with Kaylie. My heart clenched in my chest as I watched him. I don't think I'd ever loved him more than I did now. He would be the greatest father in the world- I was one hundred percent sure of it. I could have watched him with her forever, but my Cheetos were soon gone. I licked my orange fingers before going back over to Don. I held my hands out wordlessly. It took him a few seconds to even realize I was standing there. My heart clenched again.

He handed her back to me, regret in his eyes. "Child Services will be here soon. I have to give her to them," I said, feeling the need to explain why I broke up the wonderful scene in front of me.

He stepped around to my side, arm around my shoulder. Since she was back in my arms, she'd drifted off to sleep. I envied her ability to fall asleep on a whim whenever she wanted.

We just stood watching er sleep for a few minutes. The peaceful look on her face made my heart ache in want for a child of my own. I was comforted by the fact that in about 7 short months, I would. And not just any child. Baby Flack that Don and I had created together. My heart beat in double time at the thought.

I finally broke the silence, saying, "I think we can do this."

I knew that he knew to what I was referring. "Me too."

Parenthood. The enormity of it still scared me a little bit, but I was feeling more hopeful now than I ever had. And I was thrilled to have someone as amazing as Don to share it with.

**Oh. My. God. I was just reading over I was was think- FLUFF MUCH? Well, Lutterman's arrest (hurray!) was sort of exciting I suppose, but after that... I almost feel guilty. Like eating too much ice cream. I just wrote too much fluff :O Please review! -Serena**


	9. Chapter 9

**So... no time to write is going to be my excuse. I feel like a broken record -_- I hope you're still hangin' in for this story!**

"Okay, Jessica, I have to go get the ultrasound, so I'll just be a few minutes," said Dr. Goetz, just as she was about to disappear through the door. Once she was gone, I looked over at Don, sitting next to me.

Today was the day that we would get a look at the first grainy images of our baby. My hand found its way to his, and threaded our fingers together. I knew we were both nervous. Hell, I was pretty sure my palms were soaked right now, and I'm positive Don had direct knowledge of that fact, but was too sweet to point it out. My heart fluttered at an insane rhythm, my breath coming slightly quicker than normal.

I'd already been classified as a 'high-risk' pregnancy. When I'd been shot, apparently some damage had been sustained that could potentially complicate the pregnancy. Dr. Goetz had said today that everything seemed to be going well, but I don't think I'd believe her until I saw for myself.

"You're both going to be fine," Don said, trying his best to reassure me.

His words did little to quell the nervous flutters in my stomach. "But what if it's not Don? What if something's really wrong and we can't do anything about it?" I continued to ramble on not really registering the words that were coming out of my mouth, when Don released my hand, finding my face, turning it to look square into his blue eyes. They always had that calming effect on me.

"If there is something wrong, you getting all worked up will not help the situation," he said, tone tranquil. I wondered how he was able to be so calm about all of this. He leaned in, giving me a quick peck on the lips before Dr. Goetz came back through the door, hauling what looked to be a very primitive television, equipped with wires and gauges and dials that I couldn't even begin to fathom what they could be used for.

"Sorry for the wait," she apologized as she ses up the machine. I could barely keep track of her as she adjusted, turned, plugged, and switched the ultrasound to life. The screen flickered as well, becoming black with slight flashes of bits of white every now and then.

I was white knuckled on Don's poor hand as Dr. Goetz apologized for the coldness of the gel. I sucked in a breath when it touched my skin, the chilled substance making goosebumps appear on my flesh. Once the entire lower part of my abdomen was covered, Dr. Goetz smiled once again, asking, "Ready to see your baby?"

I nodded eagerly and wordlessly. I saw her press a few buttons, holding the little sensor that I've seen on TV, then began to run it through the gel on my abdomen. She spoke to us, all the while keeping her eyes on the monitor, "We might not hear a heartbeat at first, but that's normal. It just depends on the baby's position." First, I saw nothing, just random blobs of gray and black, and nothing substantial. I was beginning to panic when I saw nothing on the monitor, looking over Dr. Goetz, a panicked expression on my face. That's when I saw a smile break out on her face. "There's your baby."

She pointed to the screen, and I strain to see what she sees, but I cannot make sense of the mass of gray in a sea of black. "Here's the head," she pointed, and I followed her finger doggedly, "And the arms, and the legs." I finally saw our baby on the screen, the shape rough but definite- that was our baby. My mouth fell open slightly no words coming out, my free hand covering it. An incomprehensible sense of wonder filled me, and I felt tears pool in my eyes, but I fought to keep them contained.

"And there," Dr. Goetz says, pointing to a little fluttering gray area, "is your baby's heart."

When I heard the muted beating over the speakers, I lost my control, and tears began to streak down my face noiselessly. I look back at Don- and his expression was similar to mine. Very indiscernible tears sparkled in the very corners of his eyes, an expression of wonder and love on his face.

"There's our baby," I whisper hoarsely to Don.

He repeats my sentiment, kissing my forehead, and hugging me as close to his body as possible.

Suddenly, I couldn't get married to this man fast enough, and nine months seemed eons away.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ****. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ****. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ****. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ****. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . **

I was sitting in my apartment with four of my planned five bridesmaids- Lindsay, Lucia, Veronica, and Camille (the latter two I'd met in preschool and had been best friends through college). I was also hoping to get Stella Bonasera to come back from New Orleans and be my maid of honor. I felt extremely guilty that I had yet to call her an even inform her of our engagement. I missed Stella sorely- she'd grown to become one of my very close friends. That didn't happen often. I led a very private life and did not have a lot of close friends- merely many acquaintances of varying degrees.

We were poring over flower arrangements now- one aspect I was keen on leaving to my much girlier friends. Of course, Lucia was about as excited as I was at the prospect of looking at flower arrangements, and had already broken out the alcohol. I of course, couldn't indulge the way she was and was doomed to listen about which color flower would look best with which bouquet.

There were two things planned as of yet, definitively: The wedding would be on April 10 at St. Genevieve Church (a gorgeous church in a more rural part of New York state), a mere three months away. And my dress would be the same one my mother wore on her wedding day. It was an absolutely gorgeous dress, and I wished I could tell my mother she'd had great taste. The torso part of the dress was a close fit to my body, inlaid with tiny, false diamonds that looked more like glitter than jewels. The stones were fit closely together near the top of the off-shoulder dress, becoming more spaced out the farther down the dress it went. The skirt began to flare out just below my ribcage. Where the skirt began to flare was a solid-colored scarlet ribbon. A small train would trail behind me when I walked. I'd already tried it on- and it fit perfectly. I wouldn't be showing a lot at three months- but the dress allowed enough wiggle room to be safe.

My friends had narrowed flower selections down- and I vaguely registered them asking me questions about which flowers I wanted to go where, and I barely remembered my responses.

After hours of work-I think I actually dozed off a couple times- and listening to a drunk Lucia's comments for the past hour, we were finished. Red and white lilies were the flower of choice, apparently. I found I was glad about that. Lilies were my favorite flower. Even before the Great Flower Debate I'd been considering wearing one in my hair.

I ushered my guests out- after making plans to go shopping for bridesmaid dresses- and making sure that Lindsay would give Lucia a ride home. I was finally alone in the silence of my apartment, and I wish Don was here to fill it. After gazing upon the stack of bridal magazines, I decided to finally give Stella that call.

I'd been putting it off for some reason- I wasn't really certain. Stella knew that I was alive- she'd been transferred out of New York before my return, however, and I had yet to hear from her or talk to her myself. I felt guilty about that fact. I can't really explain why I'd been so reluctant to call her. I could only theorize that she'd be pissed at me for not contacting her sooner. Another part of me that still lay battered and bleeding due to my time undercover was afraid she wouldn't accept me- would judge me for the fact that I'd been beaten and raped and had been powerless to stop it.

I shut that voice up, picking up my phone. I dialed Stella's cell phone number, which was somehow still committed to my memory. It rang once before she picked up, "Bonasera," she answered in a brusque tone. I had the feeling she was busy.

"Hey, Stell," I began nervously.

She was silent for a moment, and I was afraid she'd hung up. "Jessica Angell, is that you?"

"Um, yeah. Hey there," I answered awkwardly.

There was another long pause. "You're alive," she finally croaked.

"Wait... you didn't know? They said they would call you..." I said, trailing off.

"Well, they didn't," Stella snapped, "How could you do that to me, Jessica?"

I flinched at her tone. She had a point. And, she only called me Jessica when she was really pissed. "I'm so sorry, I just.. I thought you knew." My voice was small, almost frightened.

Her voice softened slightly, but barely, when she said, "Do you have any idea how torn up Flack was when you die-er, well, we thought you died?"

"I do actually," I replied meekly. I decided to let her get her anger at me out before I got down to business. She ranted for a little while before she finally quieted down to a reasonable level, and she finally asked, "Where were you all this time?"

I hesitated, "I think we need to meet in person before I tell you," I said pensively, running my fingers down a line of fading scars on my left arm. "Stella, I had a reason I called..."

"Other than to tell me you're not dead?" Stella asked, weakly attempting a joke.

"No, I'm actually, uh, getting married to Don. And I want you to be my maid of honor," I took a breath, "I'm so sorry to be dumping all this on you at once. I mean, you just found out I'm not dead, and now I'm telling you I'm getting married, and asking you to come to New York and leave your job and-"

"Of course I'll do it!" Stella squealed excitedly. "When do you need me?"

"Oh well, I need you to try on bridesmaid dresses, and on the actual day of, so maybe a day or two in a few weeks and the actual day of."

"Oh, Angell, I'm so happy for you two," she said with sincerity. I was grinning at this point. I never told her that I was pregnant. I figured that I should share that piece of news in person. Besides, it gave me something to look forward to when I had to tell her about my time with the Russian gang. We set up a date to go dress shopping, and I hung up, another lead weight finally lifted from my shoulders.

**I apologize for the shortness! It was enough fluff for one day...  
**

**Only two more chapters to go! Keep reviewing! (Sorry I didn't get finished when my self-imposed deadline was. my internet has been temperamental and other things have kept me away from writing. Trust me, this will be done before February at the latest. ill try to find more time to write when school gives me a break.)**

**Also: I am not really sure a St. Genevieve church exists, so... yeah. Just use your imagination, please.  
**


	10. Chapter 10

**Heres the next chapter! I might add one more than originally planned, so I hope you enjoy it :)**

**AND I'm changing up my timeline a wee-bit. Here's the new timeline:**

**May 20, 2009- Jess is shot at Tillery's and rushed to the hospital. Surgery begins. 11 hours pass and Don is told Jess is dead.**

**May 21, 2009- Jess's surgery is completed. She is put into a medically-induced coma. Don sees Jess on the table. Simon Cade is shot.**

**May 22, 2009- Jess wakes up. FBI requests Jess for undercover operation. Begins 4 months of physical therapy.**

**September 5, 2009- Jess begins undercover detail.**

**March 21, 2010- Jess is arrested by Don and Danny. Failed rape on Jess.**

**March 22, 2010- Amy Baron joins Jess**

**August 10, 2010- Amy and Andy are killed, Jess is beaten and raped. Jess goes back to Flack.**

**August 28, 2010- Jess is discharged from the hospital.**

**August to November, 2010- Jess's rehabilitation**

**December 7, 2010- Don and Jess get together (and their baby is conceived.)**

**January 1, 2011- Jess goes back to work.**

**January 21, 2011- Jess thinks she's pregnant and Don proposes**

**The rest, you know ;) sorry for the long AN.  
**

"Everyone should be here in about an hour. Can I get you a drink?" I asked, walking into the kitchen. Stella had taken the weekend off and was staying in my apartment. To say the least, I wasn't looking forward to this conversation. Not by a long stretch. I suppose that I could look forward to telling her I was pregnant. There was a picture of the first ultrasound hanging on my refrigerator. I smiled, running my fingertips across the paper's surface before they came to rest across my still deceptively flat stomach.

"Water's fine," she answered, voice floating in from my living room.

I poured her a glass, myself one as well, ice clinking against the side as I brought it to her. "Thanks," she said quietly.

"Yeah," I answered, "Any time."

I sat down on the couch next to her. We sat in heavy silence for a few minutes before I broke it. "I guess I have a lot of explaining to do, don't I?"

"Yes, you do."

I breathed in through my nose, and then out through my mouth, calming my heart which was beating in double time. "After I was shot, they rushed me into surgery and somehow managed to save me. I was shot twice- once in the stomach, and another time in my right shoulder." I pulled the collar of my shirt away, exposing the scar left by the .50 caliber bullet. "It was a through-and-through that didn't cause much damage," I said, letting the shirt fall back into place. "But the one to my stomach was another story. It basically shredded a few of my organs and cut through a couple arteries. I was," I took a breath, "in surgery for 11 hours when the doctors were told to tell Don I'd died in surgery. Obviously I was still alive. I was in surgery for 12 more hours when they got the bleeding under control and fixed my organs."

Stella had so far been silent, and then she said, "But Don saw you... Sid performed your autopsy..."

"I can't remember, but I was in a medically induced coma when they let him see me. All my vitals were drastically slowed down, and I'm-" my breath caught, "I'm sure he was too blinded by sadness to notice anything. And I'm sure the FBI made sure Sid would stay quiet about the non-autopsy..."

"Why?" Stella's voice was angry. Not directed at me (at the moment) but at something else.

"Why what?"

"Why were we told you were dead?" Stella looked me in the eyes, "Do you have any idea how torn up he was after you died? Sometimes he didn't show up for work, and Mac had to call morgues to see if he'd turned up dead! He drank all the time... It was like he stopped caring. The light literally disappeared from his eyes. You can ask anyone- he wasn't the same. And pardon me if I'd like to know why I had to watch one of my closest friends go through that!" Stella finished her rant, letting her blow off steam. She took a drink of the water. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that-"

"It's fine, Stel. I understand." I continued, "A day after I got shot, I woke up, and the FBI was there. They had an undercover assignment for me. I had to go undercover with a Russian gang with extensive connections in New York and abroad. The main goal was to take down the gang's leader, Dmitri Koskov. My undercover partner was Officer Andy Anderson." I described Andy in more detail after Stella wanted to make a comment about his name. I told her about Don arresting me, and then Dmitri's first rape attempt. She put an arm around my shoulders, holding me close to her in comfort. "We were undercover for six months when Dmitri's neice, Amy Baron, comes knocking on my door." I told her about Amy, about how she became almost like a sister to me. I took a deep breath. Now comes the hard part. "That night, Sha- er Dmitri wants Amy at the warehouse. She's inside, and I'm thinking, what's taking so long?"

I think Stella guessed the rest of the story because her grip on me tightened. "I go into the back room, and Amy is lying there is a pool of her own blood."

I sniffled slightly, but the tears stayed pooled in my eyes. I blinked them away quickly, not wanting to cry. "He tortured and killed her for information on m-me." My voice was wobbling dangerously, but I kept my tears inside."He planned on doing the same to me, except he decided to throw in a rape and beating for me."

I ground my teeth together, trying to not let the tears overtake me. And they didn't. It was the first time I was able to tell someone about it without crying at all. Stella and I sat on the couch in silence. "He would've killed me. I felt my life literally slipping through my fingers. But Andy saved me, got a bullet in his chest after putting a hole in Dmitri's head." I had to remind myself to breath, seeing as how my son or daughter would not appreciate the lack of oxygen. I decided to move on to happier news. "That's not all."

"Great," Stella said sarcastically, obviously assuming another macabre story.

"I'm pregnant."

"Oh my god, it's not from..."

I realized what she was saying, quickly correcting her probably terrified thoughts. "Oh, god, no. No, it's Don's." I stood up, heading back to the fridge. I took the picture, and handed it to Stella once I returned.

She let out a breath, "Oh, wow." A few moments later, she grinned, throwing her arms around me. "Oh my god! Jessica! You're knocked up!"

I laughed at her excitement. I giggled, "Yeah. I am."

She embraced me happily, and upon pulling back asked, "How far along are you?"

"About two months."

She lowered her voice, "Is this why you're getting married? Because of the baby?"

I had a feeling that would be a common question. "No, of course not. He proposed before he even knew."

She hugged me again, "Angell, I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks so much Stel. You have no idea how much that means to me." I said, hugging her back.

Weights were lifted off my shoulders at her acceptance of all this. I heard pounding on the door. I pulled back. "We should run and hide. The running of the bridesmaids is about to commence."

Stella chuckled as I walked over to the door, cringing slightly as it opened. "Jessie!" crowed Victoria and Camille, nearly bowling me over, gushing details that blew past my ears about sash colors and fabric samples. Lindsay was a little more conservative, ridiculously pregnant now. She literally waddled in, before her face pinched slightly. Lucia was just behind her. I pulled away from Vic and Millie, concern flickering over my face.

"Linds, are you okay?"

She waved me off, expression returning to normal. "I'm fine. Contractions is all." I was about to say something when she cut me off, "They're irregular and far apart. I have a lot of time."

"You sure?" I put a hand on her arm.

"Yeah, of course." She sat down on the couch, rubbing her hand across her swollen belly.

Lucia and Lindsay greeted Stella, whom they hadn't seen in months. They chattered for a few minutes until Stella asked, "Angell, why isn't Maka here? You two were pretty close if I remember correctly."

I chuckled. "Apparently, she has a running record of not wearing a dress since her high school prom and doesn't intend on breaking it."

Stella chuckled. "That sounds like Maka."

We all chatted for a few more minutes before Lindsay said loudly, "I vote that we get this dress shopping done before this baby comes out, which isn't gonna happen unless we get a move on." Armed with credit cards, we left the apartment.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Happy April 10th, 2011. I couldn't believe how fast the day had arrived. It felt like yesterday Don and I had just gotten engaged. I laughed lightly as I remembered the first week that I'd worn the gorgeous, silver ring.

_"Detective Flack, Detective Angell! Sinclair wants you in his office. Now." It was Detective Matthews who had just come from Sinclair's office who'd called to them from across the bullpen. Flack had been filling out paperwork, myself the same._

_We both looked at each other, knowing full-well what this meeting was going to be about. We walked in, and Sinclair gestured to the chairs across from his desk. "Sit. And close the door."_

_We followed his directions, and as I sat, I noticed Maka standing in the corner. I startled myself slightly, and then upbraided myself in my head. Any cop or detective should be able to immediately locate any other people in a room. Its a part of our most basic training._

_"Hey, Maka," I said, acknowledging her presence._

_She nodded at me, and was about to return my greeting verbally when Sinclair spoke. "So, we're all here today to discuss this..." he paused, looked between Flack and I, clearing indicating what he was speaking of, "predicament."_

_I managed to contain my giddy smile and look professional. Don, however, was having less luck, and he smirked like there was no tomorrow._

_"The entire precinct must know about your engagement. I wanted to tell you two that, as of today, you will no longer be partners."_

_That had been expected. It was, in fact, taboo to have any form of a relationship with your partner. It interfered with your work, and in a job like ours, those small occurrences could result in unnecessary fatalities. Yes, we had danced on a dangerous line._

_"That's fine by us, sir," I answered._

_He looked slightly miffed a moment before returning to cool, calm, collected Cheif Brigham Sinclair. It was almost as if he was expecting us to argue... hm. Perhaps he assumed the worst of any two of his detectives who'd canoodled in intimate ways and were now getting married. We were rebels. Argumentative rebels? No, but rebels none-the-less._

_Sinclair leaned back in his chair, studying us, eyes emotionless, before asking Flack, "You knock her up?"_

_Despite my efforts to be civil, I snorted with laughter. I had a feeling that would be a common question. And, hearing the stoic Sinclair say 'knocked up' really made my day. But, a look from Sinclair made me contain myself._

_"No, sir, I did not," Don answered brusquely. We'd figured we'd keep the pregnancy a secret, seeing as how most would assume that's why we were getting hitched. I looked over, and saw a certain giddiness that I knew was because he was telling a lie (sort of) and that I really was pregnant, and he was absolutely thrilled about the situation. God, I love this man._

_"Then this better be for the long-term because I don't want any tension in my precinct, understand?"_

_We both nodded. He shifted himself again so that his forarms rested on his desk, hands clasped together. "Returning to the point at hand, you two are no longer partners. Flack, I'll be having you fly solo for a while. Angell, you'll be riding with Maka until we find someone more permanent. At that point, Flack and Maka can team up. Any questions?"_

_"How long will I be with The Asian Sensation over there?" I asked._

_I heard Maka laugh at the nickname, but Sinclair was less than enthused, "At least six months. I'm planning on hauling up a few officers to detective, so we'll most likely pair you with one of them. If that doesn't work out, well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." He took a pen from his holder, and grabbed a manila folder off the top of a very, very large stack. "I need some signatures."_

_After signing all the required paperwork inside the folder, we were dismissed from Sinclair's office. As we were on our way out, however, Sinclair stopped us, "Flack, Angell!" We turned back, supposing we'd forgotten a signature. "Keep it professional. You two have managed that very well, but I'm required to say it."_

_"Well, well, well, my new partner, turns out we got a hit-and-run to go see," Maka stated after her phone beeped, stopping Sinclair from saying whatever he had been about to tell us. Sinclair dismissed us with a wave of his hand._

_"Okay, just let me grab my gun and I'll meet you there. Where did this thing go down?" Maka gave me abbreviated directions, and then left. I ventured back to my desk across from Don's._

_"It's weird seeing you go off with someone else," he said, slightly forlornly, and almost jealous._

_I noticed the envy right off the bat, and I smirked as I made sure my gun was loaded, "Are you jealous?"_

_"A little," he admitted._

_"Well, don't worry. Maka doesn't have a penis, so she's not going to sweep me off my feet and away from you."_

_He chuckled. "Have fun with your hit-and-run."_

_"Have fun with your paperwork," I said, winking flirtatiously._

_I turned to the doors, replacing my piece in it's holster, and grabbing my jacket from it's location on my chair. It was going to be strange, not working cases with Don. I hadn't really done one without him in a few years, and it was going to be bizarre with someone else. But I was happy I was with Maka and not with someone I hated. Things would be different, but change is good. And I'd get Don as a husband, so whichever angle I look from, I can't lose._

I stood in the back room of St. Genevieve's, a large, full length mirror in front of me. My dress sat a few feet away, fresh from the dry cleaners. My 'old'. My bridesmaids were bustling about behind me as my dad's longtime girlfriend, Karen, brushed through my hair. I was sad that my biological mother would not be here to see this day, but Karen was a saint at the moment. She'd told me she'd once gone to beauty school and had a way with hair. When I asked her to do my hair, along with my bridesmaids, she'd literally lit up with excitement.

She kept it simple: she piled my hair into a large, but still tight bun in the back of my head, and tucked my veil beneath it. It went perfectly with the dress, with small rhinestones clustered closely together near my head, then spacing out more and more as the veil got longer, ending at my mid-back. My 'new'.

My makeup was to be done by Millie, who was a natural with anything fashionable. It was also her shoes I was wearing- four inch, strappy white heels that looked killer with the dress, but would hurt my feet in no time. My 'borrowed'. I had a pair of white, flat flip-flops of my own for the reception.

I sat in next to nothing- strapless white bra and white panties. I pulled on my garter- to stay true to the 'something blue,' I ended up going with a lacy, sky blue garter. Shivers ran down my spine at the thought of Don taking it off with his teeth later on.

Things went by so fast as I put on my dress, my shoes, and before I knew it, I was standing with my father behind wooden doors along with my bridesmaids, and Don's groomsmen. The music started. Fewer and fewer people were standing around us as they made the march down the aisle that I would soon follow.

A lot of women told me that they feel nervous and afraid- a sundry of emotions which, I imagine, led to a lot of hopeful grooms being left at the altar. Much to my surprise and happiness, nothing but quiet calmness and the occasional flutter of excitement were passing through me. I wasn't what you'd call a commitment-phobic, but I'd never really been in a serious relationship for more than a few months. I'd expected some sort of uneasiness at being tied to one man for the rest of my life, but I felt none. No doubts were in my mind that I wanted to be with Don Flack for the rest of my life.

I'd never been a believer in fate or destiny- I believed in what we could do for ourselves while we were alive- but I had the most overwhelming feeling, as I waited in the back of the church, my arm hooked around my father's- that I was exactly where I was meant to be.

The last pair left, and my dad and I were standing alone. I looked over at him, now a few inches shorter than me thanks to the heels. He looked proud, and a little sad. "You ready for this, Jessie?"

I smiled at him, "Yeah. I am."

He smiled back at her, nostalgic and weary, "I wish your mother could have been here to see this," he said, voicing what were were both thinking.

"Me too."

"We never thought you'd get married," he said with a chuckle as my music began to drift back to us, "much less that you'd wear a dress and I'd get to walk you down the aisle." He paused a moment before guiding me to the open doors. "But you found a good one, Jessie."

_You have no idea,_ I thought as we made our way down the aisle. I'm sure everyone was staring at me, and I've never been 100% comfortable with hundreds of sets of eyes on me anyway, but I could only see Don. His wide smile, blue eyes, rocking body hidden underneath the stiff tuxedo.

I beamed for no other reason than because I was happy to see him. I hadn't seen him all day (Karen would not let me break any of those old-fashioned rules. Damn.) and being deprived of him for that long made me drink in his features like the most priceless wine.

My father handed me off to Don, and the look in his eyes would've been understandable even if you were blind. _You hurt my girl and I'll put a bullet between your eyes._

The minister began speaking, but I could hardly hear him I was so conscious of Don's warm hand in mine. The ceremony went by so fast- you'd think for an antsy girl like myself would've been bored out of her mind, but I wasn't.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Don and I had been planning on a church-appropriate kiss, but as soon as I thought of that, I murmured, "Screw it," threw my arms around his neck, and kissed him very explicitly. I heard wolf-whistles from my brothers, the minister chuckling, my father grumbling, and the crowd cheering, but I could've cared less, with our tongues battling it out in our mouths, I'm sure the church could've burned to the ground and we wouldn't have noticed a thing.

We finally separated, beginning our walk out of the church as husband and wife. I felt deliriously happy, and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

That's when it happened.

A woman in an orange prison jumpsuit stood at the doors.

My smile fell.

It was Hallie Lutterman.

Dread went through me as if I had been electrocuted.

It changed to terror when I saw a gun in her hand.

"You took something from me!" she screamed, tears running down her face. I immediately knew she was referring to her false daughter that she'd stolen from someone else. "Now I am going to take something from you!"

"No, Hallie, please don't do-"

A shot rang out.

I felt a sharp pain in my stomach, but when I looked down, I only saw a few drops of blood.

I screamed as I realized what she had done.

Beside me, Don collapsed, blood pouring out of a wound in his chest.

I don't know what happened to Lutterman. I remember kneeling down next to him, my hands finding the wound, located on his right side, inches away from where his heart, which he'd just given to me moments earlier, lay. Blood forced its way between my fingers, but I felt numb. "Stay with me, Don," I told him. "You stay, you hear me?" My voice was surprisingly calm.

He tried to say something, but he coughed up blood instead. "I can't do this without you," I admitted, my voice finally losing strength, "I can't be a mom without you. I can't live without you. So you're going to stay alive, for me and for this baby."

I heard approaching sirens.

His eyes kept drifting shut, so I kept prompting him back into consciousness with my words. "Don, do not close your eyes. Keep looking at me." I pressed my hands as hard as I could over the wound. I thought that the blood was slowing down, but that was most likely wishful thinking. My dress was stained with the blood pouring from his chest.

I kept talking nonsense to him, and the EMTs finally arrived. It was getting progressively harder for me to get Don to open his eyes.

"I can't lose him," I kept saying, to no one and anyone at the same time. I vaguely registered them, trying to drag me away from him, however futile. I didn't scream or claw, I just refused to move.

I was getting into the ambulance as pain rippled through my abdomen. I looked down, fearing that I'd been shot again. No, no bullet wounds. I cried out, slipping and falling onto my back, partially inside the ambulance. Black stars danced in front of my eyes, and I welcomed them, soon enveloping me in black numbness.

Anything was better than the reality I had been forced to live in for the past five minutes. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe Don and I were on a plane to our honeymoon location (which, despite his inability to keep secrets from me, he'd kept hidden) and I was sleeping on the plane. Once I awoke, I'd be where I was supposed to be. Don was fine. We were fine. These hopes, however false, swam around in my head as I floated through the gray of unconsciousness.


	11. Chapter 11

Silence. Darkness. I'm unaware of where I am, who I am, what I am doing. Being unconscious, though, doesn't let you think about these things. The brain protects itself when it's gone through a massive trauma. It goes inert, allowing healing to take place without interference from consciousness. Time stands still, time speeds by. It's dark and light at the same time. It's hard to describe.

It felt like I'd been out forever, yet no time at all. Sounds chirped from around me. My mind felt scattered- where am I? What the hell is happening? I tried to open my eyes, but harsh light burned my retinas. I closed them again... _-etal heartb-...-ree units of steroi-...-age Dr. Hartm-...-o sign of li-...-emove th-... _Only snippets of what I realized were voices was what I heard.

Where's Don? Is he okay? I tried to voice my concerns, but only succeeding in a few mumbles. "She's coming to!"

"Push more anesthesia, we need her _out._"

I tried again, "Don," I said, sounding dry. _Why do I feel so heavy?_

"Don't worry, honey, you're going to be oka-" _Why can't I open my eyes?_ I was unconscious before she finished her sentence.

I'm not sure how long I was out. The next thing that I became aware of was staring up at the ceiling, I noticed the beep of a heart monitor nearby, slow and consistent. It seemed I was visiting the hospital more than your average person lately. I swallowed heavily, painfully aware of how dry my mouth and throat were. I let out a quiet, dry moan.

"Jessie? Are you awake?" I turned my head to see my father sitting by my bed. My brothers, still wearing their suits, were asleep in chairs a few feet away. I would've laughed at the sight under normal circumstances. Now I just stared hollowly.

"What's... what's going on?" My voice was still dry. I glanced around to see if there was any water in the immediate area. Nope. Damn.

"You're in the hospital," he explained gently.

My eyes felt heavy. _Why am I so tired? _"No shit, Sherlock," I said as my thoughts became less and less jumbled.

I felt like he was about to make a comment about my language, but he decided not to. Before he got a chance to explain, however, my eyes widened with a mixture of shock and realization of what had happened, all flooding my mind at once as my brain began to reawaken itself.

Obviously, the brain chose to block out the most painful of images until consciousness drove away the barriers separating them from me. The onslaught was almost frightening. Images flickered through my mind faster than I could catalog each one, trying to process what had happened.

"Oh my god, where's Don?" I kept seeing him fall, blood staining his shirt, falling to the ground, my panic when the bleeding would not stop. That panic surged through me now, fresh and with renewed vigor.

His expression was neutral. "Baby girl, he didn't make it."

I couldn't register his words. "What?" My voice wobbled traitorously.

"He was declared dead on arrival." Still maddeningly blank, as though he didn't care.

"No," I said quietly. I repeated the word over and over again until I was screaming. "NO! NO! NO!" Tears streamed down my cheeks like an angry waterfall, and painful sobs wracked my body. My world, my existence, suddenly seemed pointless. My existence seemed like a hellish punishment. I had to let the pain out. I screamed. I screamed until my throat was raw and painful.

My brothers had awoken at this point were trying to hold me down, and doctors were streaming in, telling me it was going to be okay. How could they say that? How could they be so calm? Don is dead. The realization made fresh pain sear through me. I felt as if I'd been gutted. My heart ripped apart. My body submerged in acid. I'd take any of that over this. Anything but this.

Don Flack is dead.

Suddenly my world dissolved. Instead of sweet unconsciousness dragging me under, I was in the same room. Except I was alone.

A dream, I realized. It had all been a dream. I began to recognize the signs of a PTSD nightmare. I sighed in relief. Don was not dead. It had been a cruel trick by nature. And nature was a nastiest bitch you can imagine.

I glanced around my room, trying to glean what I could about where I was.

The room was well-lit, the white walls reflecting the fluorescence. I realized, however, that the floor was a rather uncheerful dark teal color carpeting. So I was not in the ICU. That's a plus. No life-threatening injuries, at least. I found a window, but it was nearly pitch black outside. So, nighttime. How many days after... that was up for grabs.

I assessed my condition. All my limbs were moving and functional. Both ears and eyes worked. I didn't appear to have any external injuries to worry about. So why was I here? That's when the ultimate bomb went off in my mind. _The baby. There's something wrong with the baby._ I feebly touched the skin of my stomach, upon realizing that I felt empty. Like I was missing a piece of myself. _Or someone else._ That's when I knew that I'd lost the baby. No one had to tell me. Call it reasoning or a mother's intuition, but I just knew it.

After that, I cried. Because I lost the baby. _Our _baby. _I lost the baby._ That was the only thing I could process, until my mind dropped another bomb on me. Don.

Where was he? How was he doing? Was he even still alive? I couldn't bear the thought of having to endure the news of hearing he'd died. I couldn't live through that again. I wasn't sure what I would do, without our child, without Don. That world seemed too impossibly bleak to even exist.

_Jess, don't freak yourself out. Be an optimist._ I theorized that he could still be in surgery. Or recovering.

I was on the brink of being overwhelmed. Just breathe. In. Out.

I had been focusing so hard on breathing that I didn't notice when a doctor came in. He was tall and muscular. He had a California air about him, with tanned skin (about three dozen shades darker than I could ever, ever achieve) and short, blond hair. I was nearly blinded when he smiled at me, the white teeth glittering so much, I bet Tom Cruise would've been green with envy. His deep blue eyes, which I assume some women found attractive, I found creepy and almost sinister-looking. He held in his hands

"Hello, Ms. Angell. How are you feeling?" He reached down for my wrist, supposedly to feel for my pulse.

"It's Mrs. Flack," I corrected, my voice unintentionally cold.

He was confused by my tone couples with my words. After feeling my pulse, and recording something on my chart. "There's nothing on your file about a spouse."

I was about to explain my predicament, but didn't really know where to start. My memories were a little foggy anyway. So, ignoring his inquiry of my history, I asked, "Don Flack came in the same time as me with a GSW to the chest. Where is he? How is he doing?" I said the fact so evenly, but inside, I was screaming. The terror bubbled through me like acid.

I noted how his face fell imperceptibly. Someone who wasn't as good as I was at reading people wouldn't have noticed it. _The son of a bitch was hoping to get lucky. Let's hope he doesn't lose his license to malpractice when someone finds out about him sleeping with his patients._

"I'll go check on that for you," he said.

_You mean check on_ him_. You'll check on him._

"But first, I have to tell you about what happened to you. You were aware you were pregnant, correct?"

I felt like scoffing. But I didn't. "Yes."

"You underwent extreme stress very early on in your pregnancy. Your child was slightly stunted in it's growth, most likely from antibiotics that were still in your system when the baby was conceived. These combined factors caused your body to reject the fetus. We were going to try a C-section, but the fetus couldn't be considered viable at only 3 months."

Silence met his statement. Of course, I'd already reached this conclusion, but to hear it voiced was an entirely different matter. I felt knocked backwards, a gaping hole in my stomach. The fact that I had no idea where Don was or how he was doing rubbed salt into the wounds. I closed my eyes for a half a second, reopening them with a breath. I hadn't grown numb to pain. To the contrary, I probably felt it more severely now. It seemed, through my intense emotional roller coaster I'd been through, my ability to compartmentalize grew exponentially stronger.

He looked expectant. I answered him in an emotionally-devoid manner, "If you're expecting me to cry or hyperventilate or something, don't hold your breath." His expression faltered, turning into something that looked like poorly masked confusion. "That GSW, please?"

He left after that. I was glad. I wished for the release of sleep, but my eyes weren't tired. Luckily, I didn't have to focus my thoughts inwards for very long. My father and my brothers came in through the door, a bit more gingerly than I would've thought.

They said they thought I was still sleeping, according to my brother. "Jesus, Jessica, you've got a curse following you around," said Shawn.

"Fuck off."

"Jessica! Mouth!" Dad exclaimed.

I more or less ignored him. "Just chill out. I'm okay. Where's Don? I sent to doctor to go find out, but I'm not sure when he'll be back." Somehow, even though I didn't know for sure where he was, or how he was doing, I wasn't afraid that he was dead. I'd gone through that news already, and I was fairly positive that nothing could ever be worse than that. The myriad of pain that had coursed through my body was unlike any I'd ever felt, or want to feel ever again.

Pain from injuries fades. Emotional pain remains with you for years, always nagging, always waiting for you to be vulnerable and weak to spring into action and wreak havoc on your psychē.

"Last time we checked, he was still in surgery, but they're optimistic," Ryan said.

I appealed to Shawn, wanting an honest answer from the cardiac surgeon of the family. "It was a blessing he jumped in front of you, because the bullet-"

"What?" Don jumped in front of me? My memories betrayed me, clearing seeing Hallie Lutterman, clad in her orange jumpsuit, aim the gun straight at Don. And suddenly, this new information pissed me off. Anger shot through me like lava in my veins. "What the hell was he thinking?" I exclaimed, suddenly, voice outraged. Why would he put himself in danger for me?

My family looked a tad confused. It was Jake who supplied the answer. "Oh, I don't know, Jessie, maybe because you're his wife?"

I was about to call him on his sassy comment, but in the ruckus, I'd nearly forgotten this happened at our wedding. As we were walking out of the church, wedding bands on our left ring fingers. I wanted to smile at that thought, but my anger still persevered. I understood his logic, but that still didn't make me any happier that he was in surgery and I was laying here, just peachy.

"Just forget about it," I said dismissively. I'd have that discussion with Don later on. I looked back at Shawn. "Speak, nerd." He childishly stuck his tongue out at me at my calling him 'nerd'. "You, my good sir, have a terrible bedside manner."

He rolled his eyes, and ignored me. "As I was saying, it's lucky he jumped in front of you, because the bullet hit him at an odd angle, and instead of getting lodged in his left ventricle, it just skimmed it, ricocheted off his scapula and lodged in the trapezius muscle. It's next to miraculous it didn't sever his spinal cord, or shred his heart."

That's what we both were. Survivors. Saved by a few millimeters. We were both lucky, ridiculously so. We were a group of select people who'd been given another chance. By God, by fate, by the universe... who knows? We were given another chance to do what we were put on Earth to accomplish. And I was eternally grateful for that fact.

"I'm going to go see where they're at in the surgery," Shawn said. "They said they didn't have any updates, but I've got connections."

"Of course you do," I said, under my breath and inaudible to my brother, who was walking out the door.

My father chuckled, then stood, saying, "I'm going to check out the cafeteria."

Jake agreed with that, and the two of them left. There was usually a commonality of the men in my family- they all love food. It can pull them away from the most dire of situations. It made me want to chuckle.

The only person left was Ryan, who seemed to have some unspoken business with me. It was silent for a few moments before a threw my hands up, "Okay, Ryan. Out with it."

Ryan was still wearing his suit, albeit without a jacket. Her dark brown hair was slightly tousled, his brown eyes tired. He looked exhausted. I felt bad, knowing I was the most likely cause. "Sharon asked me something yesterday while you were out. I quote, verbatim, 'Why does Aunite Jessie keep dying?' And I had no idea what to tell her. What do you tell an eight year old when she asks that, Jessica?"

His tone made me flinch. It wasn't exactly angry, but it was confusion mixed with disappointment. And he said 'Jessica' instead of 'Jessie' which told me we were treading in dangerous waters. My eight year old niece, Sharon, was one of the smartest, inquisitive young girls I'd ever met. And I loved her dearly. I felt enormous guilt over the fact that I caused her such distress. I didn't even want to consider what was going on inside Jeremy's head, my nephew who was going on three.

"Ry, I can't tell you I'm never going to be in danger. It's part of what I do. This is what I said when I came back from my undercover mission. I choose to put myself in these situations so we can be safer. And yes, sometimes that requires dealing with psychos like the bitch who shot Don. So, tell Sharon the truth, tell her Aunite Jess is doing this to keep New York safe. She's such a smart girl, Ry. She'll understand. If you want me to talk to her, I'm okay with that."

Ryan seemed only halfway pleased with my answer. "It's so easy for you to sit here and just say that! You're not a parent!"

"I could've been!" I yelled.

The silence that followed was deafening.

"Come again?"

Shit. I considered defusing the situation with a 'that's what she said' joke, but I wasn't juvenile enough for that. Don and I hadn't really told anyone yet. Of course, Flack's mother had guessed right away. We'd gone over to their home for dinner to announce our engagement, and she'd immediately guessed. Yeah, so, maybe Mr. Flack had jumped to conclusions, assuming we were getting married because I was pregnant. He'd never been fully on-board with our relationship in the first place. Maybe Don's parent's knew, my family hadn't the slightest idea. That was how we wanted it. Admittedly, we weren't planning on telling people until it was absolutely necessary, but things happen. And now, I'd just spilled the beans to my brother. The whole fucking can of beans.

I realized I'd leaned forward in my moment of vehemence, and I slowly leaned back, onto the lumpy mass that was my bed. "Oh, god, Ryan. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

Now he was concerned. "No, Jessie. What were you saying?"

"I... I can't... we weren't going to tell anyone," I stammered.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

I bit my lip. My lips trembled. "I was, uh... I w-was... four m-months along. The stress of D-Don getting sh-shot m-m-made me m-miscarry." Somehow, talking to my brother, who I was still very close to, made me feel about ten times more vulnerable than discussing the logistics with my doctor. Who must have gotten lost on his way to check on Don for me. I felt one tiny tear slip out of my eye. I tried to hide it, wiping the heel of my palm across my face, erasing the track the traitorous tear had made.

"I'm so sorry, Jessie," he consoled, putting an arm around me, drawing me to his chest. He squeezed me in that brotherly way that made me think that my big brother could right all wrongs in the world. Sadly, it had to end and I felt got myself together. I sniveled loudly, and in an extremely unladylike manner, and dragged my hand across my face one final time. "I'm such a mess."

Ryan laughed quietly. "Jessica Evangeline Angell, I think you have a right to be a mess."

"Jessica Evangeline_ Flack_ actually."

"Flack, of course," Ryan corrected with a slight chuckle.

I sighed. "If you don't mind, this whole thing has been fun, but I'm getting tired. There's a thing about hospitals that just makes me really sleepy. I bet they have some sort of aerosol sleep aid wafting around."

"I'm sure that's it," Ryan answered, adjusting my bed so I no longer sat up. I large yawn escaped my mouth as soon as I was reclining. My eyes started to feel heavy. "Thanks for listening, Ry."

He kissed my forehead, brushing my bangs out of my eyes before saying, "Anytime, kiddo."

**I'm baaaaaaack! Mostly. I have a few summer classes I'm finishing up, but then I'm home free! As always, softball is keeping me busy. Along with other loveliness. :) So, ONE MORE CHAPTER and I should be DONE. And this chapter of my Flangell saga will be temporarily retired while I work on my Warmness on the Soul series which has been on hiatus for FAR TOO LONG! Thank you for putting up with me and my recent abandonment. I hope I haven't done too much harm! I love you all, and hope you're still with me! -Serena  
**


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry sorry sorry for the delayed update! I've been taking summer classes to get some credits out of the way for next year, not to mention softball and volleyball -_- I am literally running on empty. Although, I just got back from a vacation to the Grand Canyon (go put it on your bucket list. now.) so I'm feeling pretty rejuvenated and ready to finish this story!**

**_***NOTICE***_ Also, on chapter ten, I posted an updated version of my post-Pay Up timeline, and I realized there were a few massive typos. So, I had to do some finagling but it has been fixed. I put the CORRECT one back on chapter 10, and also on my profile.  
**

**Sorry for the long A/N! Please enjoy THE LAST CHAPTER!**

At age 12, I got the parentally-dreaded 'birds and the bees' talk from my mother. Of course, it better than getting it from my father, who'd attempted to tell me what an erection was while I was trapped the car with him. Yikes.

After the horrendous first attempt, which left me utterly scarred for life after Dad attempted to use flagpoles as a metaphor. Yeah, I couldn't look at those the same way again without picturing a giant penis.

Back to the point, my mother was much... shall we say 'gentler' about it? She wasn't as endearingly awkward as my father- thankfully.

I was doing health homework; which my mother took as a sign from God to give me the talk. I sat at the kitchen table, the sound of a pencil scratching away on paper and the ticking of the ornate wooden cuckoo clock that had been an heirloom on my Mom's side. Every hour the bird would pop out of the front, sing a jaunty Canadian tune, and disappear. It wreaked havoc on my concentration, to say the least.

"Hi there, sweetness."

She was using her sugar-coated voice that she only used when she wanted to ask me a big favor. "What?" I asked in that sassy, impatient, pre-teen voice.

She breathed, running a hand through her straight, brown hair, "I think we need to have... _the talk,_" she finished emphatically.

What can only be described as terror flowed through me, "Oh god, Mom, no. Just no."

"Can't I-"

"No, no, no."

"If you'd let me-"

"No, I am not doing this now."

"Oh, we are doing this now."

Desperately seeking a way out, I said, "I'm doing homework."

"It can wait, eh?" Mom asked, her Canadian accent showing through.

Wow. That's odd. She usually put a premium on me finishing my homework before I did _anything_ else. So I just stared.

Taking my silence as permission to speak, she sat down in an empty chair next to mine. "I hope you realize this is just as awkward for me as it is for you," she began.

I muttered, "Yeah right," under my breath, but she didn't hear it.

"I honestly don't care about the mechanics, because A, I don't want to explain it, and B, I'm sure you already know it." I nodded. Public school definitely had me covered on that one.

"You're getting older, and I need you to hear this and remember it, okay?" She looked and sounded so deadly serious that we could've been talking about nuclear missiles in Russia aimed at the US. I gulped, but nodded all the same. "Sex changes a person. You might think its awesome, feels great, it's fun. You have to see that it messes with your head to. There's no such thing as mindless, empty sex. You can do it with someone you you might be fond of, and it might be okay sex. Maybe even great. Let me say this, though. You do not know what sex is until you have it with someone you love. Then, it moves beyond sex and becomes so much more powerful and meaningful."

"Okay. So you want me to wait until I'm married," I said, trying in vain to end this conversation.

She hesitated. "Not necessarily. Although, as your mother, I'd prefer it. For your first time, don't just go willy-nilly and choose a random person, okay? Choose someone you care about. I'm... not... making any sense, am I?"

"O-kay." It was the aloof tween voice again. I was barely paying attention at this point.

"Jessica, are you listening to what I'm saying to you?"

"Yeah."

I could tell she didn't believe me, but she let it go. "Jake has a baseball game tonight, and Shawn's already going. Do you want to come?"

I perked up instantly, "Yes!"

She stood. The cuckoo clock sang, telling us it was six o'clock. "We're leaving in a half hour, so you'd better have your homework done."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, then performed a mock solute.

"And beware, Jake is driving, so I would appreciate if you and Shawn didn't bicker so much. He got his permit a month ago and he's still nervous on highways."

"Okay, tell that to Shawn instead of me," I said. My youngest older brother always seemed to be the one to instigate our frequent arguments.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

"What a great game," I said enthusiastically. The game had gone into extra innings, both teams tied 2-2. Jake got up to bat, and hit a double to score the winning run. He'd also pitched the entire game of 11 innings. He was barely walking as we traveled to the car. I'd even offered to carry his bag (what a great sister.) I tossed his stuff into the truck, hopping in the back seat next to Shawn. He started to complain about me taking the good window, despite the fact that both windows were exactly the same.

Jake tried to get into the driver's seat, but Mom stopped him. "Oh, no you don't. You are way too tired to drive." He was about to protest when she cut him off, "A good driver is an alert driver. If you're ever somewhere and you're too tired to drive, call Dad or me. We'll come get you. You never know what will happen on the roads, and you need to be ready." It was an ominous prophecy for what was about to happen.

We'd been driving for barely ten minutes when everything went to hell. I can remember the exact details like it happened yesterday. Mom flipped on her blinker and exited, slowing down.

"God, Shawn, stop poking me!" I groaned, turning my angry eyes on my brother.

"I wasn't poking you!"

"Yes, you just were! Mom, you saw it, didn't you?"

"She saw nothing because I didn't do anything!"

"You are so full of crap! Mom, make him stop!"

That was the catalyst. One small disturbance that led to one massive disaster. She turned, taking her eyes off the road, and turning them on us. "Both of you, can you please just try to get along? We have four blocks. Four more blocks and we'll be home." She began to turn around again but it was too late. I saw the approach of the headlights, twice as high as our own.

It was quiet before the crash. I'd never known such complete silence. My mother tried to swerve around the giant semi. She hadn't been quick enough, for she'd been too busy scolding Shawn and I. She swerved just enough that the passenger side was clear of the semi. However, that put her directly in its speeding path.

The following events were fuzzy, even after many years. We slammed into the semi head on, and our tiny sedan was pushed off the road, we flipped twice, finally coming to rest in a ditch next to the highway exit, upside down. I lost consciousness for a few moments, but was snapped back to reality far too soon.

I called out, "Mom?"

She didn't respond. The image of her limp body, suspended by the seat belt, implanted itself in my brain, never to be forgotten. The entire drivers side of the car was smashed, like a crushed soda can. Her legs and waist were pinned against the steering wheel, her arms limply hanging next to her ears.

I never assumed she was dead.

"Jake? Shawn?" No response.

Nothing went through my head. I just acted. Every time I moved, the seat belt cut into me, seeing how it was the only thing suspending me in the car, making a sharp pain spread across my left side, and pain crackled from my collar bone up through my neck. I reached up, gritting my teeth through the pain, finally succeeding in dropping down to the ceiling of the car. I dropped, landing on my shoulders, and rolling awkwardly onto my back. I couldn't contain the hiss of pain that escaped my teeth. Glass cut through my shirt, puncturing my skin. I did an army crawl out my broken window, in time to see a man and woman running towards the car. Unconsciousness finally took me.

**. . . . . . . .**

I don't know why those memories tumbled through my mind in the hospital. But when I awoke, I was feeling uncomfortable. I'd long since gotten over my mother's death, but whenever I was in hospitals, I always became acutely aware of the memory. Maybe it was the smell of the hospital, or the sounds of the orderlies, the constant hum of uncertainty that hung in the air like smog.

I opened my eyes, seeing Shawn sitting next to my bed. I suddenly remembered what I'd asked him. "Oh my god, how's Don?"

My youngest older brother jumped slightly, apparently not seeing that I was awake. "Hi there, I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

I groaned inwardly, "Stop it, Mr. Sassafrass. How is he?"

"I don't know if I should tell you. I don't recall hearing a 'please.'"

"You know, Shawn, you might want to rethink who you withhold information from. I do have intensive training with firearms, best range scores in the 12th precinct, and I am accurate with a sniper rifle at up to 300 meters." I winked, "Don't screw with me. Now, _please_, tell me how my husband is."

Shawn kept his poker face in place, trying to not show a reaction to my various achievements in terms of weaponry. "'Please' was all you needed." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Well, he's out of surgery, but his post-ops look good. The anesthesia is still wearing off, so we'll have to wait for him to wake up. Overall, the prognosis is promising. He'll experience a lot of pain in his torso and back, and have to go through intensive physical therapy before he'll feel back to normal."

Surprising the both of us, I reached out and hugged him. "Thank you," I said earnestly, somewhat muffled by his shoulder.

"Anytime, little sis. Anytime."

After the brief embrace I pulled back. "When am I going to be discharged?"

He smiled broadly, "Today, actually. I sent Jake and Tyler back to your place to get you some clothes."

I covered my face with my hands. "Yeah, good idea. Sending my two brothers who have the maturity of fifteen year olds back to the apartment I share with my husband to get me some clothes, which just so happen to be in drawers, and the clothes I need just so happen to be in the drawer directly next to my lingerie drawer. You couldn't have sent Karen?" Karen and I weren't close, but it would've been better for all involved if she was the one to see my underwear. I had a feeling I would never hear the end of it from my brothers.

Shawn shrugged as though it were no big deal. Of course.

"Can I see him?"

"Yeah, of course. Just don't be expecting any long conversations. He's still pretty out of it." I was annoyed that my brother knew more about my husband's condition than I did.

"That's fine, I just need to see him." There was something about these impossible feats of the human body that made them seem like fairytales. Like my own story, I'm sure Don had a hard time believing I was actually alive after all that time I had spent away from him. I believed without a doubt that Don was alive, but there was a certain tangibility that wasn't there. I needed to see him, touch him, to really assure myself that what I was hearing wasn't just a story. I needed to make sure he was real.

Shawn helped me stand, the god awful gown I wore nearly falling off my frame. "Hospitals should really invest in better gowns," I said in a disgruntled voice.

"Stop complaining," he said, keeping an arm around me.

I promptly pushed him away, walking away quickly. Miffed, Shawn paused a moment before speeding to catch up with me. He led me through winding hallways, and I had no idea how he knew where to go. Medical degrees must come with a mandatory 'Hospital Navigation' course.

We were finally in front of sliding glass doors that read _Intensive Care Unit._ I frantically looked around inside, the doors offering a limited view inside the ICU. I desperately looked for the raven-haired detective I now called my husband. I couldn't see him.

Shawn had a word with a nurse who was sitting outside the doors, limiting access to the patients inside. I wasn't really listening but I heard a few words, _"Sister... husband... GSW... during..._" I stopped listening, wanting to just see Don.

The nurse didn't look particularly happen about the notion of letting me in, but Shawn flashed her a, so help me, flirtatious smile, and she swooned like a teenage girl. She blushed, giggling slightly before waving us in. I was suddenly very glad I hadn't listened to their conversation. "You know," I said to Shawn, "You shouldn't lead her on. Bad shit can happen."

As a teenager my brothers had been very popular, partially because of their athletic prowess, but mostly because of their... _attractiveness._ Of course, to me they were gross, but my friends throughout high school were constantly telling me how hot my brothers were. Not fun. I don't remember much of Ryan and Tyler's reign over the high school, but I remember quite clearly Jake's and Shawn's time, seeing as I was in high school at the same time they were. I got a lot of 'You're Jake's sister?' or 'You're Shawn's sister?' from the time I was a freshman until senior year.

"Well, how were we going to get in? I am quite charming when you're not around."

"Sorry if I have a hard time believing that."

We said no more until I finally saw him. He looked just as peaceful as if he were asleep at home, minus the thick gauze on his chest and the pale, post-operation complexion. I couldn't help but notice how frail he looked on the hospital. Don Flack was many things- frail was not one of them. "Oh, god," I whispered hoarsely. I rushed over to the side of his bed, kneeling next to his shoulder. I took one of his hands, lacing our fingers together, although he did not reciprocate. It would be a lie if I said that did not scare me a little.

"I'll uh, give you some, uh, space," Shawn said awkwardly, walking off until he was out of sight.

I reached up with my left hand, brushing his cheek gently. "Hey, baby, I murmured gently "Can you open your eyes?"

I wasn't expecting much when I said those words, so you can imagine my surprise when he did just that. I got off my knees, partially leaning over him. He looked a little blinded by the light, his eyes heavily lidded. "Hey you," I said gently, mimicking the greeting he'd said to me when I'd first come back from undercover.

He took a breath that looked torturous before speaking, "Are you okay?" He sounded worried.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Of course, you're the one who's worried about me when you've just been shot."

"Old habits... die hard," he said slowly, sounding a little raspy. He must have seen my concern about his injuries. He squeezed my hand back. His eyes and expression said more than words ever could, but he clarified his thoughts through words, "I'll be fine, Jess," he said, his voice sounding a little less raspy and more croaky.

I leaned forward, kissing his forehead. Instead of pulling back, I rested my forehead on his, staring intently into his crystalline blue eyes. "It should've been me."

He stared back at me just as intensely. "No, it shouldn't have. I took that bullet for you and our kid, Jess. I couldn't lose either of you."

My stomach dropped to my feet. I shut my eyes tightly, knowing that tears would soon come out of them. I've never dreaded something as much as I am dreading telling him I lost the baby.

Don immediately noticed my apprehension. "Jess, what's wrong?" I couldn't look at him. Couldn't come to terms with the emptiness that felt like it was eating me from within. "Jessica. Tell me." His voice was firm, but gentle. There was no questioning in his voice, no polite asking for compliance.

"I... I-I miscarried." A few tears squeezed out of my closed lids. There. I said it. "I'm so sorry," I whispered, wobbly. "Our baby's gone, and it's all my fault."

Despite his injuries, Don managed to pull me next to him on the bed. I curled into his side, and I was quite disappointed I couldn't see his face. I also didn't want to see his disappointment in me. I didn't miss the quiet groan of pain he emitted, but he began talking before I could call him on it. "Don't say that, Jess. Nothing that happened is your fault. Nothing."

"But our baby's gone," I murmured, voice cracking.

A deep breath from him, followed by a nearly imperceptible cringe when his chest began to pain him. "It's going to be tough, Jess. I'm not saying that it isn't." We clung together in mutual grief, mine rolling down my cheeks and his exuding off him like waves. I don't know how long we lay there together, but it didn't matter.

We would get through this. It would be tough, like Don had said, but we still had each other. And since the time I'd started at the NYPD we were always there for each other, first as partners, then as lovers, and now as husband and wife. And that was exactly how we would survive now.

Together.

**. . . . . . . .**

"Come on, Crips. You're almost there," I said gently. Don's arm was braced around my shoulders, one of mine around his back. We were riding in the elevator up to his apartment, into which I'd moved shortly before the wedding. He didn't have trouble walking, but his entire body was stiff. Getting shot does some crazy things to your body. Not only is there soft tissue damage, but the force of a bullet is a lot like getting hit by a bat by a hefty man. Bruising to internal structures could cause pain far from the actual point of impact.

"No mercy for the ill?" Don asked, a slight laugh. His face pinched in pain.

"You've got that a little mixed up, hon." The elevator doors slid open, and we stepped out, headed down the hallway to his apartment. "And stop laughing. You're going to wreck your ribs."

I unlocked the door, stepping into the apartment. I tossed the keys onto a random table. We walked-somewhat slowly- over to the couch. He sat gingerly, wincing when he had to bend over slightly. "My god, you're so fragile," I said, almost giggling. I'd always been used to seeing Don as some sort of impenetrable force, and it threw me a little to see him so vulnerable.

I began to walk away from the couch, but he reached out, grasping my wrist, pulling me back down until I lay against his good side. "Nah, just injured."

I smirked, kissed him on the lips before pulling back slightly. "I love you."

Her returned my smile, "I love you, Mrs. Flack."

I laughed again. "That's going to take a lot of getting used to."

"I like the ring to it. Jessica Flack sounds nice," he murmured, kissing me again.

I pulled back, "Speaking of which we need to start thinking of baby n-" I cut myself off quickly and painfully. A deafening silence settled over us. I've been shoving the miscarriage into the back of my mind. I know that it wasn't my fault. I know that. Despite that fact, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt surrounding me like a curtain.

I had lost our baby.

I looked down at my hands curled like dead leaves on my lap, but Don must've seen the guilt and disappointment welling in my eyes. He reached up and touched my cheek, "Jessica, look at me."

I did it reluctantly, peering into those eyes that I loved.

"Nothing that happened is your fault. I know it's in your nature to take responsibility for things, and when someone hurts someone you love, you take it upon yourself as being your fault."

"I know that. It's just... it was my case. If we weren't-" there was a short pause before I continued. "If we weren't together Lutterman would never have gone near you." A small part of me was afraid he would agree. Most of me thought that idea would be ludicrous.

"Jess, she wasn't going for me. She never even saw me. I saw the look in that woman's eyes, Jess. She wanted to kill you. I've been a cop for a long time, and I don't think I've ever seen that much rage in a person's eyes. If I hadn't..." We both knew his unspoken words. I would've died. It was Don's turn to look down. "I couldn't lose you again," he said, in almost a whisper. I was almost uncertain I'd heard him right.

I heard a soft _plick_. A tear and fallen off his cheek and onto the couch. I don't think I've ever realized how much I meant to this man until that moment. The human mind is a convoluted place. I managed to know how much he loved me, know how protective he was over me, know how he would take a bullet for me in a blink, and yet I'd never _realized _it. I felt almost terrible at that notion- I'd married him without the realization. Not that I regretted marrying him, at all. It was, and is, the best decision I ever made. Now, it was just more startlingly obvious how perfect my husband was. _My husband._

"Hey, come here," I murmured softly. I encircled his shoulders with my arms, and he leaned heavily into my embrace. I kept an arm around his shoulder, and placed my other hand on his cheek. My thumb brushed away another tear. I coaxed him to look at me, and his icy blues met my chocolate browns. "I'm here. You're here. We'll get through this together. The days that follow won't be easy, but we'll take them on together."

"I love you, Jessica Flack," he said, the raw honesty in his words making my blood boil. The use of my new name made me shiver, but in a good way. I leaned in, giving him a short and sweet kiss.

I pulled back so only a breath separated us. "I love you too. I always have, and I always will."

**Sorry about the cheesy ending, but we all need some cheese in our lives. Anyway, that is the end of _The Days That Follow_! Thanks so much for sticking with me through about eight missed deadlines and added chapters, ginormous hiatuses. Thanks to my inspiration, Avenged Sevenfold, for providing fantastic music that kept me going when I was down (this story was heavily inspired by the song Buried Alive). A special thanks to Runner043 and jessicaflack who reviewed every single chapter and whose comments fueled my muse :)**

**I have an M-Rated epilogue that I'm going to post as a sort of 'last chapter' to this story. I didn't want to change the rating, and the epilogue didn't feel complete without smut. yes, I just said that. So, keep an eye out for it!  
**

**I'm going to put this part of Don and Jess's life on the shelf for a while and work on my Warmness on the Soul series. Once that is going strong, then we'll see about a third part in the post-Pay Up universe.  
**

**Thanks so much! -Serena  
**


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